THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


THE 

WORKS    AND    LIFE 

OF 

LAURENCE    STERNE. 


YORK    EDITION. 

The  Sutton  Issue  of  the  Life  and  Works  of 
Laurence  Sterne,  printed  at  The  Westminster  Press, 
New  York,  is  limited  to  Seven  Hundred  and  Fifty  Sets, 
of  which  this  is  Set  No 4  i ) 


_ iili'M, 


THE 


Journal 


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AND 


V  AH  iOl 


TrTnT^T-'-m  r-^ 


BY 


LAIJRl^.iNCii.   biERNE 


ELIZABEli 


WITH    AH 


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Laurence  Sterrn-      Rtchinir  bv  Hedouin. 


THE 


Journal  to  Eliza 


AND 


VARIOUS    LETTERS 


BY 


LAURENCE   STERNE 


AND 


Ml 


ELIZABETH   DRAPER 


WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION 
BY 

WILBUR    L.   CROSS 


fmmm 


J.   F.   TAYLOR  &   COMPANY 

NEW    YORK 


"D 


lid  -j 


Copyright   Ifiot,  by 
J.  F.  Taylor    &    CoiMPANY 


NEW  YORK 

The  Westminster   Press 


THE 


Journal  to  Eliza 


AND 


VARIOUS    LETTERS 


TAKEN    FROM 


THE   GIBBS    MANUSCRIPTS 


AND 


OTHER    SOURCES 


MOSTLY    PUBLISHED    NOW   FOR  THE    FIRST  TIME 


CONTENTS 


Pagb 

Introduction ii 

Letters  from  Yorick  to  Eliza 15 

The  Journal  to  Eliza 51 

Original  Letters  of  Laurence  Sterne       .      .      .  155 

Letters  of  Elizabeth  Draper 165 

An  Eulogy  by  the  Abbe   Raynal 281 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

Laurence  Sterne.     Etching  by    Hedouin Frontispiece 

Tomb  of  Eliza  Draper  in  Bristol  Cathedral 50 

Commodore  James,  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 157 

Belvidere   House,  by   Lee   Woodward   Zeigler,    from    an 

original  sketch  by  J.  B.  Frazer 173 

Abbe  Raynal 279 


INTRODUCTION 


INTRODUCTION. 


ELIZABETH   DRAPER. 

STERNE  married  Miss  Lumley  of  York. 
He  afterwards  held  sentimental  con- 
verse with  Miss  Fourmantelle,  Lady 
Percy,  "My  witty  widow  Mrs.  F — ,"  &c., 
&c.  But  his  one  passion  was  for  the  Eliza 
to  whom  this  volume  is  dedicated.  "  Not 
Swift,"  he  wrote  to  her  just  before  she 
sailed  for  India,  * '  so  loved  his  Stella, 
Scarron  his  Maintenon,  or  Waller  his 
Sacharissa,  as  I  will  love  and  sing  thee, 
my  wife  elect  !  All  those  names,  emi- 
nent as  they  are,  shall  give  place  to  thine, 
Eliza." 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  Draper  was  daughter  to  one 
May  Sclater  who  went  out  to  India  when 
a  mere  boy.  He  married  there  a  Miss 
Whitehill,  and  settled  at  Anjengo,  a  small 
factory  on  the  coast  of  Malabar,  where 
Elizabeth    was   born    on  April   5,    1744.     In 

iii 


INTRODUCTION 

due  time  she  was  sent  to  England  for  the 
'  *  frivolous  education  ' '  accorded  to  ' '  girls 
destined  for  India. "  '  *  The  generality  of 
us,"  she  wrote  in  sorrowful  retrospect, 
<<  *  #  #  Yirere  never  instructed  in  the  Im- 
portance of  any  thing,  but  one  Worldly 
Point,  that  of  getting  an  Establishment  of 
the  Lucrative  kind,  as  soon  as  possible, 
a  tolerable  complection,  an  Easy  manner, 
some  degree  of  taste  in  the  adjustment  of 
our  ornaments,  some  little  skill  in  dancing 
a  minuet,  and  singing  an  air."  With  no 
training  in  * '  useful  Employments, ' '  she  re- 
turned to  India  in  her  fourteenth  year  to 
become,  six  months  later,  the  wife  of 
Daniel  Draper,  her  elder  by  some  twenty 
years.  Since  1750  Draper  had  been  in  the 
service  of  the  East  India  Company,  and  in 
1759,  the  year  after  his  marriage,  he  was 
appointed  Secretary  to  the  Government  at 
Bombay,  where  with  some  interruptions  he 
continued  for  the  rest  of  his  life  in  India. 
His  faithful  services  were  eventually  re- 
warded by  a  seat  in  the  Council  and  the 
post  of  Accountant  General.  If  a  some- 
what heavy  official,  he  was  described  by  a 
friend    and    admirer   as    "a   very   noble   and 

iv 


INTRODUCTION 

good-humoured  man."  There  was  nothing 
unusual  about  the  Draper  marriage,  which 
now  seems  so  ill-sorted  in  respect  to  age; 
and  we  may  suppose  that  neither  husband 
nor  wife  found  it  too  uncomfortable.  A 
boy  was  born  in  1759,  and  two  years  later 
a  girl,  named  for  her  mother — the  Eliza  or 
Betsey  who  figures  in  one  of  the  letters. 
In  1765,  the  Drapers  brought  their  children 
to  England  that  they  might  be  given  an 
English  education.  Later  in  the  same  year 
Mr.  Draper  went  back  to  Bombay,  but  his 
wife  remained  in  England  to  recover  her 
health,  which  had  been  much  weakened  by 
child-bearing  and  the  heat  of  India. 

There  was  then  living  in  Gerrard  Street, 
Soho,  a  retired  Indian  commodore  named 
William  James.  After  making  a  fortune  in 
the  Bombay  Marine  Service,  he  returned  to 
England,  married  an  attractive  wife,  and 
soon  won  a  place  in  the  ' '  best ' '  London 
society.  Early  in  1767,  Sterne  began  going 
to  the  Jameses  for  dinner,  especially  of  a 
Sunday;  and  the  friendship  quickly  became 
intimate.  Under  date  of  February  23,  Sterne 
wrote  to  his  daughter  Lydia :  "I  wish  I  had 
you  with  me — and  I  would  introduce  you  to 


INTRODUCTION 

one  of  the  most  amiable  and  gentlest  of  be- 
ings, whom  1  have  just  been  with — *  *  *  a 
Mrs.  James,  the  wife  of  as  worthy  a  man  as 
I  ever  met  with — I  esteem  them  both."  It 
was  no  doubt  at  the  house  of  these  "  kind 
friends  in  Gerrard  Street"  that  Sterne  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Draper — and  most 
likely  on  his  arrival  in  London  at  the  very 
beginning  of  January,  1767.  Half  in  love  on 
first  sight,  Sterne  soon  became  completely 
engrossed  with  his  new  passion.  And  well 
he  might,  for  though  Eliza  may  not  have 
been  handsome,  she  was  young,  good  look- 
ing at  least,  and  most  agreeable  in  manner. 
"Your  eyes,"  Sterne  wrote  to  her,  "and  the 
shape  of  your  face  (the  latter  the  most  per- 
fect oval  I  ever  saw)  *  *  *  are  equal  to  any 
of  God's  works  in  a  similar  way,  and  finer 
than  any  I  beheld  in  all  my  travels. ' '  Mrs. 
Draper  was  then  called  by  her  London  friends, 
says  one  of  her  letters,  the  Belle  Indiari. 
Sterne  saw  much  of  her  at  the  Jameses; 
she  visited  his  lodgings  in  Old  Bond  Street; 
they  made  excursions  together  in  and  about 
London ;  and  when  separated  from  her, 
Sterne  communed  with  her  ' '  sweet  senti- 
mental   picture."      As    the    time    was    ap- 

vi 


INTRODUCTION 

preaching  for  her  to  return  to  India — she 
sailed  on  April  3,  1767 — he  addressed  to 
her  the  extraordinary  epistles  that  all  the 
world  knows,  and  for  months  afterwards  he 
recorded  his  sensations  in  a  journal  which 
he  hoped  some  day  to  place  in  her  hands. 

The  sojourn  of  Mrs.  Draper  in  England 
had  been  to  the  change  and  harm  of  her 
character.  With  her  little  knowledge  of  the 
world,  she  took  Sterne  and  her  flatterers  too 
seriously.  She  was  no  doubt  attractive  in 
appearance,  with  her  oval  face  and  light 
airs,  but  her  admirers  said  to  her  face  that 
she  was  beautiful ;  and  worse  than  that,  they 
tried  to  make  out  that  she  possessed  quali- 
ties of  mind  which,  if  cultivated,  would 
surely  lead  to  distinction  in  literature.  They 
sent  her  back  to  the  dull  humdrum  of  India 
with  the  literary  ambitions  of  Mrs.  Montagu 
and  the  blue-stockings.  Henceforth  she  was 
to  find  at  Bombay  a  great  "Dearth  of  every 
thing  which  could  charm  the  Heart — please 
the  Fancy,  or  speak  to  the  judgment."  Still 
Mrs.  Draper  seems  for  a  time  to  have  made 
the  best  of  the  situation.  Writing  from  Tel- 
licherry  in  1769  to  a  friend  in  England,  she 
spoke  with  respect  if  not  with  enthusiasm  of 

vii 


INTRODUCTION 

her  husband,  whom  she  was  assisting  in  his 
official  correspondence.  But  by  1772  she 
became  thoroughly  sick  of  India  and  of  her 
husband  in  particular.  In  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
James  from  Bombay  she  lamented  that  she 
was  compelled  to  remain  in  a  detestable 
country,  where  her  health  was  declining, 
and  her  mind  was  tortured  by  the  desire 
to  return  to  England  and  be  with  her 
daughter.  At  this  time  she  was  no  longer 
living  with  Draper  as  a  wife,  and  for  suffi- 
cient reasons,  for  he  was  engaged  in  open 
intrigue  with  an  attendant — a  Mrs.  Leeds. 
In  retaliation  and  despair,  Mrs.  Draper 
abruptly  left  her  husband  on  the  night  of 
January  14-15,  1773,  in  company  with  Sir 
John  Clark  of  the  Navy,  then  in  command 
of  a  frigate  at  Bombay.  She  sought  refuge 
for  a  time  with  a  ' '  kind  uncle, ' '  Tom 
Whitehill,  at  Rajahmandry,  and  the  next 
year  she  returned  to  England,  where  much 
attention  was  paid  to  her  as  Sterne's  Eliza. 
She  associated,  perhaps  not  to  her  good 
fame,  with  John  Wilkes  the  politician  ; 
and,  if  an  anecdote  of  Rogers  is  to  be 
trusted,  William  Combe,  the  literary  hack, 
could    boast    ' '  that    it    was    with    him,    not 

viii 


INTRODUCTION 

with  Sterne,  that  EHza  was  in  love." 
More  to  be  pitied  than  to  be  censured, 
the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Draper  died  at  Bristol 
on  August  3,  1778,  in  the  thirty- fifth  year 
of  her  age. 

Mrs.  Draper  was  buried  in  the  cloisters 
of  Bristol  Cathedral,  where  to  her  memory 
stands  a  monument  symbolizing  in  its  two 
draped  figures  Genius  and  Benevolence,  the 
qualities  given  her  in  the  inscription.  The 
next  year  the  Abbe  Raynal,  the  French 
historian  of  the  Indies  —  over  whom  Mrs. 
Draper  had  cast  her  spells,  first  in  India 
and  afterwards  in  England  —  wrote  about 
her  in  mad  eulogy.  He  had  wept,  he  said, 
with  Eliza  over  Sterne;  and  at  the  time  of 
her  death,  she  was  intending  to  quit  her 
country  for  a  life  with  him  in  France.  "A 
statuary,"  he  goes  on  to  say  in  description 
of  Mrs.  Draper,  "who  would  have  wished  to 
represent  Voluptuousness,  would  have  taken 
her  for  his  model;  and  she  would  equally 
have  served  for  him  who  might  have  had 
a  figure  of  Modesty  to  display.  =^  *  *^  Every 
instant  increased  the  delight  she  inspired; 
every  instant  rendered  her  more  interesting. 
#  #  #   Eliza  then  was  very  beautiful?     No, 

ix 


INTRODUCTION 

she  was  simply  beautiful:  but  there  was  no 
beauty  she  did  not  eclipse,  because  she  was 
the  only  one  that  was  like  herself."  ^And 
long  afterwards,  James  Forbes,  to  whose 
Oriental  Memoirs  we  owe  so  much  for  the 
social  India  of  those  days,  paid  his  tribute 
to  Mrs.  Draper.  Anjengo  he  averred  would 
ever  be  celebrated  as  the  birthplace  of  Eliza: 
' '  a  lady  with  whom  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
being  acquainted  at  Bombay,  whose  refined 
tastes  and  elegant  accomplishments  require 
no  encomium  from  my  pen."  To  the  vari- 
ous places  where  Mrs.  Draper  lived  in  India 
the  curious  long  made  pilgrimages.  Colonel 
James  Welsh  of  the  Madras  infantry  visited 
the  house  at  Anjengo  where  she  was  sup- 
posed to  be  born,  and  carried  away  from  a 
broken  window  pieces  of  oyster- shell  and 
mother-of-pearl  as  mementos.  He  took  pains 
to  write  also  in  his  Memoirs  that  the  house 
she  lived  in  at  Tellicherry  was  still  standing 
in  1812.  Belvidere  House,  at  Mazagon,  over- 
looking the  harbour  at  Bombay — the  house 
from  an  upper  window  of  which  Eliza  es- 
caped  by   a  rope  ladder  to  the   ship  of  Sir 

*  Quoted  from  the  English  translation  in  The  European 
Magazine,  March,  1784.  Consult  Raynal,  Histoire  Philosophique 
et  Politique  (Book  III,  new  edition,  Paris,  1780), 


INTRODUCTION 

John  Clark — was  long  believed  to  be  haunted 
by  her  spirit,  '  *  flitting  about  in  corridor  or 
verandah  in  hoop  and  farthingale."  Sketches 
of  Belvidere  were  brought  to  England  by  J. 
B.  Fraser,  the  traveller  and  explorer;  and 
from  them  Robert  Burford  painted  a  pano- 
rama* for  public  exhibition  in  London.  For 
nearly  a  century,  it  is  said,  a  tree  on  the 
estate  of  her  uncle  Tom  Whitehill  at  Masuli- 
patam  was  called  Eliza's  tree  in  memory  of 
her  sojourn  there. 


*  A    vignette    of  the    view    was    made    for    The    Mirror    of 
Literature,    Amusement    and    Instruction   (July   9,    1831). 


XI 


INTRODUCTION 


LETTERS  FROM  YORICK  TO  ELIZA. 

AS  narrated  in  the  introduction  to  the 
first  volume  of  Letters  and  Miscel- 
lanieSy  Mrs.  Draper  was  induced  to 
print  some  of  the  letters  that  she  received 
from  Sterne  in  the  spring  of  1767.  The 
slight  volume,  with  the  dedication  and  pre- 
face reproduced  here,  made  its  appearance  in 
February,  1775.  Except  for  the  ten  letters 
that  this  volume  contained,  the  correspondence 
between  Sterne  and  Mrs.  Draper  seems  to 
have  been  lost.  Among  the  lost  letters, 
were  several  from  Sterne,  and  all  of  Mrs. 
Draper's  replies  covering  the  same  period. 
The  latter  were  so  many  that  Sterne  spent 
an  entire  afternoon  in  sorting  and  arranging 
them.  And  to  be  lamented  much  more  is 
the  disappearance  of  the  long  ship  letters 
that  passed  between  the  Bramin  and  Bra- 
mine  in  the  summer  and  fall  of  the  same 
year.  In  May,  Sterne  took  four  days  for 
an  overland  letter  to  Mrs.  Draper  and  in 
August  he  dispatched  another  to  chaperon 
one  from  Mrs.  James.    While  in  his  retreat  at 

xiii 


INTRODUCTION 

Coxwold  he  wept  for  an  evening  and  a 
morning  over  Eliza's  narration  of  the  dan- 
gers and  miseries  of  her  voyage.  * '  Thou 
wouldst  win  me  by  thy  Letters,"  he  records 
in  his  jom-nal  to  her,  "had  I  never  seen  thy 
face  or  known  thy  heart." 

The  ten  letters  that  have  survived  bore 
when  written  no  date  except  the  hour  of 
the  day  or  the  day  of  the  week,  and  they 
were  published  by  Mrs.  Draper  without  any 
indication  of  date  whatever.  The  first  brief 
note,  sent  with  a  present  of  the  Sermons 
and  Tristram  Shandy,  evidently  belongs  to 
January,  perhaps  to  the  last  week  of  the 
month  when  appeared  the  ninth  volume 
of  Shandy.  And  very  soon  afterwards, 
no  doubt,  Sterne  dispatched  the  second 
note  in  which  he  would  persuade  Eliza 
to  admit  him  as  physician  in  her  illness, 
notwithstanding  '*  the  etiquettes  of  this 
town  say  otherwise."  The  succeeding  eight 
letters  were  daily  missives  from  Sterne  to 
Eliza  while  she  was  at  Deal  waiting  for 
the  signal  of  embarkation  from  the  Earl  of 
Chatham,  which  was  to  bear  her  to  India. 
On  her  departure  the  blood  broke  from 
poor  Yorick's   heart. 

xiv 


INTRODUCTION 


THE   GIBBS   MANUSCRIPTS. 

THESE  manuscripts  are  by  far  the  most 
important  Sterne  discovery  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  They  are  named  from 
their  former  owner,  Thomas  Washbourne 
Gibbs,  a  gentleman  of  Bath,  into  whose 
possession  they  came  midway  in  the  cen- 
tury. How  this  piece  of  good  fortune  hap- 
pened to  him,  we  leave  to  his  own  pen  to 
relate : 

"Upon  the  death  of  my  father,"  he 
writes,  ' '  when  I  was  eleven  years  old,  a 
pile  of  old  account  books,  letters,  common- 
place books,  and  other  papers  of  no  docu- 
mentary value  was  set  aside  as  waste,  and 
placed  in  a  room  where  I  used  to  play. 
I  looked  through  the  papers,  and  found  the 
journal  and  letters.  An  early  fondness  for 
reading  had  made  me  acquainted  with  the 
well-known  extracts  from  the  writings  of 
Sterne— 'The  Story  of  Maria,'  'The  Sword,' 
'  The  Monk, '  '  Le  Fevre, '  and  a  small  book 
containing  the  '  Letters  of  Yorick  and  Eliza, ' 

XV 


INTRODUCTION 

and  finding  these  names  in  the  letters  and 
book,  I  took  all  I  could  find,  and  obtained 
permission  to  preserve  them,  and  they  have 
been  in  my  possession  ever  since.  How 
they  came  into  the  hands  of  my  father, 
who  was  a  great  reader,  and  had  a  large 
collection  of  books,  I  never  had  any  means 
of  knowing." 

Mr.  Gibbs  showed  the  curious  manuscripts 
to  his  friends,  and  in  May,  1851,  sent  a  part 
of  them  to  Thackeray,  then  at  work  upon 
the  English  Humourists.  Except  for  a  men- 
tion of  this  incident  in  a  Roundabout  (the 
pages  were  afterwards  suppressed),  nothing 
was  publicly  known  concerning  the  manu- 
scripts until  March,  1878,  when  Mr.  Gibbs 
read  before  the  Bath  Literary  Institution 
a  paper  on  ' '  Some  Memorials  of  Laurence 
Sterne,"  the  substance  of  which  was  printed 
in  The  Athenceum  for  March  30,  1878.  On 
the  death  of  Mr.  Gibbs  in  1894,  the  manu- 
scripts passed  under  his  bequest  to  the 
British  Museum.  They  are  numbered  34527 
among  the  additional  manuscripts  acquired 
in  1894-1899.     They  contain: 

1.  The  Journal  to  Eliza. 

2.  A  Letter  from   Sterne  at  Coxwold  to 

xvi 


INTRODUCTION 

Mr.    and    Mrs.    James,    dated    August    10, 
1767. 

3.  A  Letter  from  Sterne  at  York  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  James,  dated  December  28, 
1767. 

4.  Draft  of  a  Letter  from  Laurence 
Sterne   to    Daniel    Draper. 

5.  A  Letter  from  Elizabeth  Draper  at 
Bombay  to  Anne  James,  dated  April  15, 
1772. 

6.  Two  Letters  from  W.  M.  Thackeray 
to  J.  W.  Gibbs  dated  May  31,  and  Sep- 
tember  12,  [1851.] 

About  the  genuineness  of  every  part  of 
this  manuscript  material  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  The  Journal  to  Eliza  and  the  let- 
ters to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  and  to  Daniel 
Draper  are  in  Sterne's  own  hand-writing. 
The  first  letter  "has  been  through  the  post, 
and  is  franked  by  Lord  Fauconberg,  the 
patron  of  the  Coxwold  living."  The 
second  letter  has  also  passed  through  the 
post.  The  letter  from  Mrs.  Draper  is  like- 
wise in  her  own  hand.  And  to  the  Thack- 
eray letters  have  been  preserved  the  original 
covering  envelopes. 

xvii 


INTRODUCTION 


THE   JOURNAL   TO    ELIZA. 

NEARLY  one  half  of  the  manuscript 
volume  just  described  is  occupied  by 
The  Journal  to  Eliza,  or  The  Bra- 
mine^s  Journal,  as  Sterne  perhaps  intended  to 
call  it.  On  the  first  page  is  a  note  by  Sterne 
himself,  wherein  it  is  said,  with  a  character- 
istic attempt  at  mystification,  that  the  names 
' '  Yorick  and  Draper — and  sometimes  the 
Bramin  and  Bramine"* — are  fictitious,  and 
that  the   entire   record   is    * '  a  copy  from   a 

French   manuscript — in    Mr.  S s   hands." 

Then  follow  seventy-six  pages  of  writing, 
with  about  twenty-eight  lines  to  the  page, 
and  finally  a  page  with  only  a  few  words 
upon  it.  The  leaves  are  folio  in  size,  and 
except  in  the  case  of  the  first  and  the  last, 
both  sides  are  written  upon. 

This  curious  diary  was  composed  during  the 
first   months   after   Sterne's    separation   from 


•  Mrs.  Draper  called  Sterne  the  Bramin  in  allusion  to  his 
priestly  character;  and  he  kept  up  the  fiction  by  addressing 
her  as  the  Bramine. 

xix 


INTRODUCTION 

Mrs.  Draper.  On  a  certain  day  late  in 
March  1767,  Sterne  handed  Mrs.  Draper 
into  a  postchaise  for  Deal,  and  turned  away 
to  his  London  lodgings  ' '  in  anguish. ' '  Be- 
fore parting,  each  promised  to  keep  an  inti- 
mate journal  that  they  might  have  "mu- 
tual testimonies  to  deliver  hereafter  to  each 
other,"  should  they  again  meet.  While 
Mrs.  Draper  was  at  Deal  making  prepara- 
tions for  her  voyage  to  India,  Sterne  sent 
her  all  that  he  had  written;  and  on  the 
thirteenth  of  April  he  forwarded  by  a  Mr. 
Watts,  then  departing  for  Bombay,  a  second 
instalment  of  his  record.  These  two  sections 
of  Sterne's  journal — and  likewise  all  of  Mrs. 
Draper's,  for  we  know  that  she  kept  one — 
have  disappeared.  The  extant  part  begins  on 
the  thirteenth  of  April,  1767  and  comes  down 
to  the  fourth  of  August  in  the  same  year. 
The  sudden  break  was  occasioned  by  the 
expected  return  of  Mrs.  Sterne  from  France, 
where  she  had  been  living  for  some  time. 
After  her  arrival  at  Cox  wold,  the  journal 
could  be  carried  on  only  by  stealth;  and 
besides  that,  Sterne  felt  her  presence — and 
even  the  thought  of  it — a  restraint  upon 
the  fancy.     A  postscript  was   added  on  the 


INTRODUCTION 

first  of  November  announcing  that  Mrs. 
Sterne  and  Lydia  had  just  gone  to  York 
for  the  winter,  while  he  himself  was  to 
remain  at  Coxwold  to  complete  the  Senti- 
mental Journey.  There  were  hints  that  the 
journal  would  be  resumed  as  soon  as  he 
reached  London  in  the  following  January. 
But  Sterne  probably  did  not  carry  out  his 
intention.  At  least  nothing  is  known  of  a 
later  effort. 

In  Sterne's  introductory  note,  the  Journal 
is  described  as  * '  a  Diary  of  the  miserable 
feelings  of  a  person  separated  from  a  Lady 
for  whose  Society  he  languished. "  Already 
worn  out  by  a  long  stretch  of  dinners, 
Sterne  completely  broke  down  under  the 
strain  of  Mrs.  Draper's  departure  for  India. 
"Poor  sick-headed,  sick-hearted  Yorick  ! " 
he  exclaims,  ' '  Eliza  has  made  a  shadow  of 
thee."  As  his  illness  increased,  the  Sunday 
visits  in  Gerrard  Street  were  broken-off,  and 
the  sick  and  dejected  lover  shut  himself  up 
in  his  lodgings  to  abstinence  and  reflection. 
To  allay  the  "fever  of  the  heart"  with 
which  he  was  wasting,  he  had  recourse  to 
Dr.  James's  Powder,  a  popular  remedy  of 
the  period  which,  so  said  the  advertisement, 

xxi 


INTRODUCTION 

would  cure  "any  acute  fever  in  a  few  hours, 
though  attended  with  convulsions."    On  go- 
ing out  too  soon  after  taking  the  nostrum, 
Sterne    caught  cold  and   came    near    dying. 
Physicians  were  called  in,  and  twelve  ounces 
of    blood    were    taken    from    the    patient    in 
order   "to  quiet,"   says   Sterne,    "what  was 
left  in  me."     The  next  day  the  bandage  on 
his   arm  broke  loose   and   he   ' '  half  bled  to 
death ' '    before    he   was    aware   of   it.     Four 
days    later    he    found    himself    much    "im- 
proved   in    body    and    mind."      On    feeling 
his  pulse,  the  doctors  "stroked  their  beards 
and  look'd   ten   per  c^  wiser."    The  patient 
was  now  in  condition  for  their  last  prescrip- 
tion:  I  "am  still,"  he  writes,  "to  run  thro' 
a  Course   of  Van    Sweeten's   corrosive   Mer- 
cury,   or    rather   Van    Sweeten's    Course    of 
Mercury  is  to  run  thro'  me."     The  doctors 
dismissed,     Sterne    finally     experimented    at 
his    own   risk  with  a  French   tincture   called 
L'Extraite  de  Saturne,  and  on  the  next  day 
he  was  able  to  dine  out  once  more. 

During  his  illness  his  "room  was  allways 
full  of  friendly  Visitors,"  and  the  "rapper 
eternally  going  with  Cards  and  enquiries." 
With     these     friends,     among    whom    were 


INTRODUCTION 

Lord  and  Lady  Spencer,  he  had  yet  to 
dine;  and  then  on  the  twenty  second  of 
May  he  set  out  for  Yorkshire.  On  the 
twenty  eighth  he  reached  his  * '  thatched 
cottage ' '  at  Coxwold,  and  began  another 
course  of  corrosive  Mercury.  His  ' '  face  as 
pale  and  clear  as  a  Lady  after  her  Lying 
in,"  he  rose  from  his  bed  to  take  the  air 
every  day  in  his  postchaise  drawn  by  ' '  two 
fine  horses,"  and  by  the  middle  of  June  he 
was  "well  and  alert."  So  he  went  over  to 
Hall-Stevenson's  at  Crazy  Castle,  where  on 
the  neighboring  beach,  "as  even  as  a  mir- 
rour  of  5  miles  in  Length,"  squire  and  par- 
son ran  daily  races  in  their  chaises,  "with 
one  wheel  in  the  Sea,  &  the  other  in  the 
Sand."  In  the  course  of  the  summer, 
Sterne  paid  another  visit  to  Crazy  Castle; 
Hall- Stevenson  came  to  Coxwold  for  a  day  or 
two,  and  they  went  together  to  Harrogate 
to  drink  the  waters.  By  the  27th  of  July 
they  were  back  at  York  for  the  races.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  next  month,  Sterne 
was  ' '  hurried  backwards  and  forwards  ab*^ 
the  arrival  of  Madame" — an  event  that  had 
long  been  impending  to  the  suspense  and 
torture  of  his  mind. 

xxiii 


INTRODUCTION 

To  some  the  Journal  will  be  most  inter- 
esting for  the  light  it  sheds  upon  Sterne's 
doings  for  four  months  in  the  last  year  of 
his  life.  By  it  may  be  determined  the  dates 
of  letters  and  the  order  of  Sterne's  move- 
ments in  London  and  then  in  Yorkshire.  It 
is  no  doubt  a  fragment  of  trustworthy  auto- 
biography. To  others  it  may  appeal  as  a 
Shandean  essay.  Indeed  Sterne  himself 
thought  the  story  of  his  illness — especially 
in  its  first  stages — as  good  as  any  of  the 
accidents  that  befell  Mr.  Tristram  Shandy. 
All  will  see  that  the  Journal  is  a  senti- 
mental document.  For  just  as  in  the  Senti- 
mental Journey,  Sterne  here  lets  his  fancy 
play  about  trivial  incidents  and  trivial  things. 
A  cat  as  well  as  a  donkey  may  become  an 
emotional  theme: 

"Eating  my  fowl,"  he  records  for  July  8, 
"and  my  trouts  &  my  cream  &  my  straw- 
berries, as  melanchoUy  as  a  Cat;  for  want  of 
you — by  the  by,  I  have  got  one  which  sits 
quietly  besides  me,  purring  all  day  to  my 
sorrows — &  looking  up  gravely  from  time  to 
time  in  my  face,  as  if  she  knew  my  Situa- 
tion. —  how  soothable  my  heart  is  Eliza, 
when    such    little    things    sooth    it!     for   in 

xxiv 


INTRODUCTION 

some  pathetic  sinkings  I  feel  even  some 
support  from  this  poor  Cat  —  I  attend  to 
her  purrings — &  think  they  harmonize  me — 
they  are  pianissimo  at  least,  &  do  not  dis- 
turb me. — poor  Yorickl  to  be  driven,  wt^ 
all  his  sensibilities,  to  these  resources  —  all 
powerful  Eliza,  that  has  had  this  magic! 
authority  over  him;  to  bend  him  thus  to 
the  dust." 

With  him  was  always  the  picture  of 
Eliza,  who  had  sat  for  him  just  before 
going  down  to  Deal.  It  may  have  been 
one  of  Cosway's ;  but  we  do  not  know, 
for  it  has  disappeared  along  with  all  other 
portraits  of  Mrs.  Draper.  It  rested  upon  his 
table  as  he  wrote  his  daily  record  of  inci- 
dent and  emotion.  To  it  he  said  his  ma- 
tins and  vespers,  and  felt  all  his  murmurs 
quieted  by  the  spirit  that  spoke  to  him 
from  the  "  gentle  sweet  face."  "  I've 
been,"  he  says,  "as  far  as  York  to  day 
with  no  Soul  with  me  in  my  Chase,  but 
yT  Picture — for  it  has  a  Soul  I  think — or 
something  like  one  which  has  talk'd  to  me, 
&  been  the  best  Company  I  ever  took  a 
Journey  with."  He  showed  the  portrait  to 
the   Archbishop   of  York — "his    Grace,    his 

XXV 


INTRODUCTION 

Lady  and  Sister" — and  told  them  "a  short 
but  interesting  Story"  of  his  "friendship  for 
the  original."  It  was  taken  over  to  Crazy 
Castle  where  it  went  round  the  table  after 
supper  and  Eliza's  health  with  it.  And 
finally,  says  Sterne,  in  allusion  to  the  Senti- 
jiiental  Journey,  "  I  have  brought  yr  name 
Eliza!  and  Picture  into  my  work  —  where 
they  will  remain — when  you  and  I  are  at 
rest  for  ever."  But  with  Sterne  sentiment 
must  end  in  humor ;  and  so  came  that 
daring  fancy  of  some  Dryasdust  commenting 
in  a  far  distant  time  on  Yorick  and  Eliza: 
' '  Some  Annotator, ' '  says  Sterne,  '  'or  explainer 
of  my  works  in  this  place  will  take  occasion 
to  speak  of  the  Friendship  w^.^  subsisted  so 
long  &  faithfully  betwixt  Yorick  &  the  Lady 
he  speaks  of  —  Her  Name  he  will  tell  the 
world  was  Draper — a  Native  of  India — mar- 
ried there  to  a  gentleman  in  the  India  Ser- 
vice of  that  Name — who  brought  her  over 
to  England  for  the  recovery  of  her  health 
in  the  Year  65  —  where  She  continued  to 
April  the  year  1767.  It  was  ab^  three 
months  before  her  Return  to  India,  That 
our  Author's  acquaintance  h  hers  began. 
M^:^   Draper   had   a   great    thirst   for   knowl- 

XX  vi 


^ 


INTRODUCTION 

edge — was  handsome — genteel — engaging — 
and  of  such  gentle  disposition  &  so  en- 
lightend  an  understanding,  —  That  Yorick 
(whether  he  made  much  opposition  is  not 
known)  from  an  acquaintance — soon  became 
her  Admirer — they  caught  fire,  at  each  other 
at  the  same  time  —  &  they  w*^  often  say, 
without  reserve  to  the  world,  &  without  any 
Idea  of  saying  wrong  in  it.  That  their  Af- 
fections for  each  other  were  unbounded — M^ 
Draper  dying  in  the  Year  *  *  *  #  *  This 
Lady  return 'd  to  England  &  Yorick  the 
year  after  becoming  a  Widower — They  were 
married — &  retiring  to  one  of  his  Livings  in 
Yorkshire,  where  was  a  most  romantic  Situa- 
tion—  they  lived  &  died  happily  —  and  are 
spoke  of  with  honour  in  the  parish  to  this 
day." 

Sterne  felt  sure  that  the  marriage  with 
Eliza  would  take  place  within  three  years. 
He  had  so  written  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment  in  dedicating  an  almanac  to  her, 
and  he  believed  that  impulse  came  from 
heaven.  In  the  meantime  Eliza  was  omni- 
present in  the  spirit.  *'  In  proportion," 
writes  Sterne,  '  *  as  I  am  thus  torn  from  y^ 
embraces — /  cling  the  closer  to  the  Idea  of 

xxvii 


INTRODUCTION 

you.  Your  Figure  is  ever  before  my  eyes 
— the  sound  of  yT  voice  vibrates  with  its 
sweetest  tones  the  Hve  long  day  in  my 
ear — I  can  see  &  hear  nothing  but  my 
EHza. "  As  he  sat  down  to  his  Senti- 
mental Journey^  EUza  entered  the  hbrary 
without  tapping,  and  he  had  to  shut  her 
out  before  he  could  begin  writing.  On 
another  day,  the  dear  Bramine  was  asked  to 
stay  that  her  presence  might '  'soften  and  mod- 
ulate" his  feelings  for  a  sentimental  portrait 
— the  fair  Fleming,  it  may  be,  or  the  beau- 
tiful Grisette,  or  the  heartbroken  Maria.  To 
Eliza  he  dedicated  "a  sweet  little  apartment" 
in  his  "thatched  palace,"  and  entered  there 
ten  times  every  day  to  render  his  devotions 
to  her  in  ' '  the  sweetest  of  earthly  Taber- 
nacles. ' '  And  for  his  future  ' '  Partner  and 
Companion"  he  built  a  pavilion  in  "a  re- 
tired corner"  of  his  garden,  where  he  sat  in 
reverie,  and  longed  and  waited  for  that  day's 
sleep  when  he  might  say  with  Adam — 
* '  Behold  the  Woman  Thou  has  given  me  for 
Wife:' 

The  woman  that  had  been  given  him  for 
wife  twenty-five  years  before  was  still  in 
France.      But   she   was   then   about   to  visit 

xxviii 


INTRODUCTION 

her  husband  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining 
from  him  provision  for  the  support  of 
herself  and  daughter  in  southern  France. 
After  repeated  delays  Mrs.  Sterne  reached 
Coxwold  on  the  second  of  October.  As 
Sterne  looks  forward  to  this  visit,  his  "heart 
sinks  down  to  the  earth."  He  would  be  in 
health  and  strength,  if  it  were  not  for  this 
cloud  hanging  over  him  with  "its  torment- 
ing consequences."  Taking  this  distress  for 
theme,  his  friend  Hall- Stevenson  wrote  "an 
affecting  little  poem"  which  Sterne  promised 
to  transcribe  for  Eliza.  When  illness  pre- 
vented Mrs.  Sterne  from  setting  out  from 
France  as  soon  as  she  expected,  her  husband 
became  impatient  at  the  detention,  for  he 
was  anxious  "  to  know  certainly  the  day 
and  hour  of  this  Judgment. "  "  The  period 
of  misery,"  covering  a  month  at  length 
came  and  passed.  Half  in  love  with  her 
husband  because  of  his  humanity  and  gen- 
erosity, Mrs.  Sterne  went  to  York  to  spend 
the  winter.  In  the  spring  she  was  to  retire 
into  France,  "whence,"  says  Sterne,  "she 
purposes  not  to  stir,  till  her  death.  —  & 
never,  has  she  vow'd,  will  give  me  another 
sorrowful  or  discontented  hour."    These  last 

xxix 


INTRODUCTION 

weeks  with  his  wife  brought  to  Sterne  one 
consolation  more. — Mrs.  Sterne  confessed  to 
her  husband  that  at  the  time  of  her  mar- 
riage she  made  herself  out  ten  years  younger 
than  she  really  was.  *'  God  bless,"  he  writes 
to  Ehza,  '*&  make  the  remainder  of  her  Life 
happy — in  order  to  W^.^  I  am  to  remit  her 
three  hundred  guineas  a  year." 

Much  that  was  said,  in  an  earlier  volume, 
of  the  Sentimental  Journey  might  be  appro- 
priately repeated  here  of  the  Journal  to  Eliza. 
Once  Sterne  was  at  the  point  of  dying  broken 
hearted  because  of  his  separation  from  Miss 
Lumley.  Twenty-five  years  after  marriage 
she  became  ' '  a  restless  unreasonable  Wife 
whom  neither  gentleness  or  generosity  can 
conquer."  With  Mrs.  Draper,  Sterne  was 
no  doubt  more  deeply  in  love  than  he  had 
ever  been  with  his  wife.  He  would  have 
married  her,  but  for  the  barriers.  And  yet, 
had  he  married  her,  the  time  must  surely 
have  come  when  even  Eliza  would  have 
found  her  place  supplanted.  For  sincere  as 
Sterne  may  have  been  for  the  moment,  his 
emotions  were  fugitive  and  volatile.  If  one 
woman  were  not  at  hand  for  evoking  them, 
another   would    answer   as   well;    if  not   one 


XXX 


INTRODUCTION 

object,  why  then  another.  Whole  passages 
— and  this  is  one  of  the  Sterne  curiosities — 
are  taken  from  the  letters  to  Miss  Lumley 
and  carried  over  into  the  Journal  to  Eliza, 
as  applicable,  with  a  few  minor  changes,  to 
the  new  situation.  It  was  hardly  more  than 
writing  "Molly"  for  "Fanny,"  or  "our  faith- 
ful friend  Mrs.   James"  for  "the  good  Miss 

S "  and  the  old    "sentimental   repasts" 

once  graced  by  Miss  Lumley  could  be  served 
anew  for  Eliza.* 

To  explain  these  remarkable  parallelisms, 
—sometimes  word  for  word — Mr.  Sidney  Lee 
has  recently  suggested  that  Mrs.  Medalle,  in 
editing  her  father's  correspondence,  "foisted 
some  passages  from  the  Journal  on  her 
mother's  love-letters. "  t  Mrs.  Medalle  was 
certainly  unscrupulous  enough  for  that;  but 
it  is  more  likely  that  Sterne  deliberately 
adjusted    the    letters    to    the    Journal   from 

copies   preserved   at   Coxwold.      Miss    S 

of  York  consoled  with  him  in  the  ear- 
lier days  while  Miss  Lumley  was  away  in 
Staffordshire.     Mrs.  James  now  consoles  with 

*  Compare   the   letters   to   Miss  Lumley  with  the  Journal  for 
April    15,    16,    19,  26. 

t  Article  on  Sterne  in  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography. 

xxxi 


INTRODUCTION 

him  for  the  loss  of  EHza.  The  situations  are 
similar;  and  why  should  not  the  same  or 
similar  language  be  used  in  describing  them. 
Sterne's  plagiarism  from  himself  in  the  Jour- 
nal is  by  no  means  confined  to  the  senti- 
mental passages.  The  letter  dated  June  7, 
1767,  to  A.  Lee  Esq.,  descriptive  of  the 
golden  age  at  Coxwold,  was  worked  into 
the  Journal  for  the  second  of  July.  And 
in  reverse  order,  the  Shandean  story  of 
Sterne's  illness  recorded  in  the  Jouriial  for 
the  twenty-second  of  April,  was  retold  on 
the  twenty-first  of  May  in   a  letter  to   the 

Earl  of  S .     This  was,  as  has  been  seen, 

the  manner  of  the  sermons,  of  which  two 
were  nearly  alike  except  for  the  different 
texts. 


xxxu 


INTRODUCTION 


THACKERAY  AND   THE  JOURNAL. 

WHILE  Thackeray  was  preparing  his 
lectures  on  the  English  Humourists, 
Mr.  Gibbs  sent  him  the  Journal 
to  Eliza  in  a  parcel  which  seems  to  have 
contained  also  the  copy  of  the  Letters  from 
Yorick  to  Eliza  now  bound  with  the  Gibbs 
Manuscripts.  Surprise  has  been  expressed  by 
Sterne's  biographers — Mr.  Percy  Fitzgerald 
and  Mr.  Sidney  Lee — that  Thackeray  "made 
no  use"  of  the  Journal,  as  if  he  thought  it 
"of  slight  importance. "  The  biographers  also 
say  that  it  was  lent  to  Thackeray  "while  he 
was  lecturing  on  Sterne. ' '  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Thackeray  must  have  received  the  Manu- 
scripts nearly  a  month  before  his  lecture; 
and  as  will  be  seen,  he  did  make  some  use 
of  them.  But  we  will  let  Thackeray  first 
speak  for  himself.  The  following  letter  to 
Mr.  Gibbs  is  postmarked  May  31,  1851  and 
June  1,  1851. 

xxxiii 


INTRODUCTION 

13  Young  St. 

Kensington 

May  31  [1851.] 

Dear  Sir 

I  thank  you  very  much  for  your  obHging 
offer,  and  the  kind  terms  in  w^  you  make 
it.  If  you  will  send  me  the  MSS  I  will 
take  great  care  of  them,  and  gratefully  re- 
store them   to  their  owner. 

Your  very  faithful  Serv^ 

W  M  Thackeray 


It  may  be  taken  for  granted  that  the 
Manuscripts  reached  Thackeray  in  the  course 
of  a  week.  The  lecture  on  Sterne  and 
Goldsmith — the  last  of  the  series — was  read 
at  Willis's  Rooms  on  the  afternoon  of 
Thursday  July  3,  1851.*  After  a  long  de- 
lay, the  Manuscripts  were  returned  to  Mr. 
Gibbs,  with  a  comment  on  the  man  Sterne 
as  revealed  by  the  Journal.  I  give  the  let- 
ter just  as  Thackeray  wrote  it,  save  for 
erasures  and  substitutions : 

*  The  London  Times  for  July  4. 
xxxir 


INTRODUCTION 

Kensington 

12  September  [1851.] 
Dear  Sir 

Immediately  after  my  lectures  I  went 
abroad  and  beg  your  pardon  for  having 
forgotten  in  the  hurry  of  my  departure  to 
return  the  MSS  wh.  you  were  good  enough 
to  lend  me.  I  am  sorry  that  reading  the 
Brahmin's  letters  to  his  Brahmine  did  not 
increase  my  respect  for  the  Reverend  Lau- 
rence Sterne. 

In  his  printed  letters  there  is  one  XCII  t 
addressed  to  Lady  P.  full  of  love  and  despair 
for  my  Lady  &  pronouncing  that  he  had  got 
a  ticket  for  Miss  xxx  benefit  that  night,  which 
he  might  use  if  deprived  of  the  superior  de- 
light of  seeing  Lady  P.  I  looked  in  the 
Dramatic  Register  (I  think  is  the  name  of 
the  book)  to  find  what  lady  took  a  benefit 
on  a  Tuesday,  k  found  the  names  of  2,  1  at 
Covent  Garden,  &  one  at  Drury  Lane,  on 
the  same  Tuesday  evening,  and  no  other 
Miss's  benefit  on  a  Tuesday  during  the 
Season.  Miss  Poyntz  I  think  is  one  of  the 
names,  but  I'm  5  miles  from  the  book  as  I 

tNo.  CVIII  in  this  edition. 

XXXV 


INTRODUCTION 

write  to  you,  and  forget  the  lady's  name  & 
the  day. 

However  on  the  day  Sterne  was  writing 
to  Lady  P.,  and  going  to  Miss  's  bene- 
fit, he  is  dying  in  his  Journal  to  the  Brah- 
mine,  can't  eat,  has  the  Doctor,  &  is  in  a 
dreadful  way. 

He  wasn't  dying,  but  lying  I'm  afraid — 
God  help  him — a  falser  &  wickeder  man 
its  difficult  to  read  of.  Do  you  know  the 
accompanying  pamphlet.*  (My  friend  Mf 
Cooper  gave  me  this  copy,  wh  he  had  pre- 
viously sent  to  the  Reform  club,  &  has  since 
given  the  club  another  copy)  there  is  more 
of  Yorick's  love  making  in  these  letters, 
with  blasphemy  to  flavor  the  compositions, 
and  indications  of  a  scornful  unbelief.  Of 
course  any  man  is  welcome  to  believe  as 
he  likes  for  me  except  a  parson,  and  I  can't 
help  looking  upon  Swift  &  Sterne  as  a  couple 
of  traitors  and  renegades  (as  one  does  upon 
Bonneval  or  poor  Bem  the  other  day,)  with 
a  scornful  pity  for  them  in  spite  of  all  their 
genius  and  greatness. 

*  Seven  Letters  written  hy  Sterne  and  his  Friends,  edited  by 
W.  Durrant  Cooper  (London,  printed  for  private  circulation, 
1844).  The  letter  Thackeray  thought  blasphemous  is  evidently 
the  one  addressed  to  John  Hall-Stevenson  from  Coxwold  on 
December  17,  1766. 

xxxvi 


INTRODUCTION 

With  many  thanks  for  your  loan  beheve 
me  Dear  Sir 

Very  faithfully  yours 

W.    M.   Thackeray 

It  may  be  that  Thackeray  left  the  Journal 
unread  until  after  the  lecture  on  Sterne  and 
Goldsmith.  No  positive  statement  can  be 
made  about  that.  But  it  is  not  probable 
that  he  would  fail  to  examine  at  once  Sterne 
manuscripts  that  he  "gratefully"  received. 
True,  no  quotation  is  made  from  the  Journal 
for  the  lecture — and  in  that  sense  Thackeray 
"made  no  use  of  it" — but  a  careless  perusal 
of  the  document  is  precisely  what  would  lead 
one  to  the  unreasonable  view  that  Thackeray 
took  of  Sterne.  He  was  evidently  much 
amused  by  the  account  Sterne  gives  of  a 
fever  brought  on  by  the  loss  of  Eliza — the 
minute  circumstances  of  the  blood  letting 
and  the  wise  physicians,  the  farewell  to 
Eliza  and  the  announcement  on  an  evening 
that  "  I  am  going,"  to  be  corrected  the 
next  morning  by  "So  shall  not  depart  as 
I  apprehended."  At  this  point  Thackeray 
turned  to  that  famous  letter  written  on   an 


xxxvu 


INTRODUCTION 

afternoon  at  the  Mount  Coffee-house  to 
Lady  P.,  which  bears  no  date  except 
"  Tuesday,  3  o'clock,"  though  in  the 
standard  editions  of  Sterne  it  is  among 
the  letters  for  April  1767.  Sterne  writes 
to  ' '  my  dear  lady ' '  that  if  she  will  per- 
mit him  to  spend  the  evening  with  her,  he 
will  gladly  stay  away  from  Miss  ******* 's 
benefit,  for  which  he  has  purchased  a  box 
ticket.  On  consulting  the  Dramatic  Register, 
Thackeray  discovered  that  the  only  actresses 
to  receive  benefits  on  a  Tuesday  in  April 
1767  were  Miss  Pope  at  Drury  Lane  and 
Miss  Poitier  at  Covent  Garden.  The  date 
for  each  was  the  twenty-first.  The  very 
day  then,  that  Sterne  was  dying  for  Eliza, 
he  was  also  dining  in  the  Mount  Coffee- 
house and  trying  to  make  an  assignation 
with  Lady  P.  Cleverly  forged  as  Thacke- 
ray's chain  may  seem,  it  has  one  weak  link. 
The  date  of  the  letter  to  Lady  P.  is  un- 
determined. In  Mrs.  Medalle's  edition  of 
the  correspondence,  the  letter  was  placed 
near  the  end  as  if  it  belonged  to  Decem- 
ber 1767  or  to  January  1768.  In  the  col- 
lected edition  of  Sterne's  works,  it  first 
appeared    with    the    letters    for   April    1767. 

xxxviii 


INTRODUCTION 

April  21,  1767  is  impossible,  for  Sterne  was 
surely  too  ill  then  to  leave  his  lodgings.  On 
that  very  day,  as  Thackeray  might  have  ob- 
served, Sterne  wrote  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James 
that  he  was  "almost  dead"  from  the  bleed- 
ing. It  may  be  supposed,  if  you  hke,  that 
Sterne  could  exaggerate  or  even  sham  an 
iUness  to  awaken  Eliza's  pity  for  him,  but 
he  could  have  had  no  motive  for  deceiving 
his  friends  in  Gerrard  street.  Without  much 
doubt  the  correct  date  for  the  letter  is  Tues- 
day, April  23,  1765.  As  he  sat  in  the 
Mount  Coffee-house,  Sterne  was  debating 
within  himself  whether  he  should  pass  the 
evening  with  Lady  Percy,  or  attend  the 
benefit  to  be  given  at  Covent  Garden  to 
Miss  Wilford,  a  popular  dancer,  who  was  to 
appear  on  that  evening  as  Miranda  in  Mrs. 
CentHvre's  Biisy  Body.^ 

How  much  Thackeray's  unfortunate  mis- 
take may  have  contributed  to  the  violence  of 
his  essay  in  the  Humourists  we  shall  never 
know.  It  may  have  been  the  very  thing 
which  clenched  his  opinion  that  Sterne's 
word  was  never  to  be  trusted.  At  any 
rate,  no  one  can   longer  say  that  Thackeray 

*  See  note  to  Letter  CVIII. 


xxxix 


INTRODUCTION 

' '  made  no  use  of ' '  the  Journal  to  Eliza. 
Thereafter  Thackeray  usually  assumed  a 
more  genial  tone  when  Sterne  became  the 
theme.  Nobody  can  object  to  that  letter  he 
wrote  in  Sterne's  room  at  Dessein's  Hotel 
for  Miss  Baxter  in  America.  "Sterne's  pic- 
ture"— to  quote  a  sentence  or  two  from  the 
delightful  passage — "Sterne's  picture  is  look- 
ing down  on  me  from  the  chimney  piece  at 
which  he  warmed  his  lean  old  shanks  ninety 
years  ago.  He  seems  to  say  'You  are  right. 
I  was  a  humbug:  and  you,  my  lad,  are  you 
not  as  great?'  Come,  come  Mr.  Sterne  none 
of  these  tu  quoques.  Some  of  the  London 
papers  are  abusing  me  as  hard  as  ever  I 
assaulted  you."  Then  there  is  this  same 
fancy  elaborated  into  a  Roundabout:  Thack- 
eray is  again  in  Sterne's  room  at  midnight, 
when  a  lean  figure  in  black-satin  breeches 
appears  in  the  moonlight  to  call  him  to 
account  with  menacing  finger  for  that  mis- 
trust and  abuse  of  ten  years  back.  But 
there  is  also  another  Roundabout  in  which 
Sterne  figures — Notes  of  a  Week's  Holiday,^ 
wherein  Thackeray  returns  to  the  old  as- 
sault   with    terrific    fury.      The    Journal    to 

*  Cornhill  Magazine  for  November  1860. 


INTRODUCTION 

Eliza,  there  mentioned  by  title,  is  focussed 
with  an  anecdote  misread  from  Dutens' 
Memoirs,  for  a  scathing  portrait  of  a 
'*  wretched  old  sinner."  Thackeray  seems 
to  have  immediately  repented  of  his  loss 
of  temper,  for  the  passage — two  pages  in 
length — was  not  allowed  to  go  into  the  col- 
lected Roundabouts.  It  has,  I  think,  never 
been  reprinted.  Hence  the  biographers  may 
be  pardoned  for  saying  that  Thackeray  made 
no  use  of  "Sterne's  own  Journal  to  Eliza," 
sent  him  by  "a  gentleman  from  Bath. ' ' 


x6 


INTRODUCTION 


THE   AUTOGRAPH    LETTERS. 

THE  two  letters  from  Sterne  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  James  are  not  original  drafts 
that  were,  according  to  the  usual 
statement,  afterwards  recast  and  elabo- 
rated. They  are  the  very  letters  that 
went  through  the  mails  to  their  destina- 
tion; and  their  counterparts  found  in  the 
printed  collections  are  only  mutilated  forms 
for  which  Sterne's  daughter  is  responsible. 
Mrs.  Medalle  possessed  every  quality  that 
should  damn  the  editor.  She  was  ignorant; 
she  was  careless;  she  was  dishonest.  That 
the  letters  as  Sterne  wrote  them  may  be 
easily  compared  with  the  mutilations,  I 
have  printed  the  two  sets  side  by  side  in 
their  due  place  among  the  Letters  and 
Miscellanies;  and  I  here  reprint  the  authen- 
tic copies,  that  the  material  of  the  Gibbs 
Manuscripts  may  be  all  together.  To  both 
letters  Mrs.  Medalle  gave  wrong  dates. 
Words  and  phrases  were  inserted  for  the 
improvement    of    her     father's     style.      An 

xlii 


INTRODUCTION 

amusing  passage  on  the  impending  visit 
of  Mrs.  Sterne  was  stricken  out.  And 
the  references  to  Mrs.  Draper — her  jour- 
nal, letters,  and  Sterne's  anxiety  for  her — 
were  either  deleted  or  emasculated.  This 
want  of  the  literary  conscience  no  doubt 
vitiates  the  entire  Sterne  correspondence  that 
appeared  under  the  supervision  of  Mrs. 
Medalle. 

In  the  Sterne  curiosity-shop,  where  one 
strange  thing  lies  hidden  beneath  another, 
nothing  has  been  uncovered  quite  so  curi- 
ous as  the  draft  of  a  letter  to  Daniel 
Draper,  Esq.,  of  Bombay.  Sterne  evidently 
found  it  difficult  to  explain  to  the  husband 
of  Ehza  the  kind  of  love  he  felt  for  her; 
for  he  begins  a  sentence,  breaks  it  off, 
starts  in  anew,  draws  pen  through  word 
and  phrase  once  more,  and  finally  passes 
into  chaos  on  arriving  at  the  verge  of  a 
proposal  that  Mrs.  Draper  shall  be  per- 
mitted to  return  to  England  and  live  un- 
der his  platonic  protection.  The  letter  bears 
no  date,  but  as  its  substance  is  contained  in 
the  Journal  for  the  second  of  June,  it  was 
probably  written  soon  after  Sterne's  coming 
to  Coxwold  in   the  early  summer  of   1767. 

xliii 


INTRODUCTION 

That  Sterne  completed  the  sketch  and  sent 
it  off  to  Draper  may  seem  improbable.  But 
Sterne  was  certainly  corresponding  with  Dra- 
per at  this  time.*  A  photograph  of  the  letter 
is  given  here  along  with  Mr.  Gibbs's  own 
version,  t 


*See  Letter  CXLIV. 
fAtheruBum,  30   March,  1878. 

xliv 


INTRODUCTION 


THE   LETTERS    OF   ELIZABETH 
DRAPER. 

NO  apology  is  necessary  for  including 
in  the  works  of  Sterne  the  letters 
of  Mrs.  Draper.  If  the  journal  she 
kept  for  him  on  the  voyage  to  India  and 
the  letters  to  him  covering  the  year  1767 
may  not  be  recovered,  we  have  in  their 
stead  several  letters,  of  which  some  have 
appeared  in  print  and  others  are  in  manu- 
scripts that  are  accessible.*  Most  important 
of  all  is  the  long  ship-letter  (forming  a 
part  of  the  Gibbs  Manuscripts)  from  Bom- 
bay to  Mrs.  James  in  London.  It  is  really 
the  fragment  of  an  autobiography,  down  to 
1772.  Now  thoroughly  disillusioned,  Mrs. 
Draper  passes  in  review  her  early  educa- 
tion, the  ill-starred  marriage,  the  friendship 
with  Sterne,  the  efforts  to  aid  widow  and 
daughter,  her  literary  aims  and  ambitions, 
and   the   sorrow  that  was  fast  settling  close 

*  For  spurious  letters,  see  the  introduction  to  the  first  volume 
of  Letters  and  Miscellanies  in  this  edition. 

xlv 


INTRODUCTION 

upon  her.  Of  Sterne  she  says:  "I  was 
almost  an  Idolator  of  His  Worth,  while 
I  fancied  Him  the  Mild,  Generous,  Good 
Yorick,  We  had  so  often  thought  him  to 
be."  But  "his  Death,"  she  must  add  with 
words  underscored,  "gave  me  to  know,  that 
he  was  tainted  with  the  Vices  of  Injustice, 
meanness  &  Folly."  Of  her  treatment  by 
Mrs.  Sterne  and  Lydia  she  makes  bitter 
complaint,  and  for  the  best  of  reasons.  For 
them  she  collected,  with  the  aid  of  Colonel 
Campbell,  twelve  hundred  rupees  among  her 
friends  in  India;  and  Lydia  she  invited  to 
come  and  live  with  her.  Her  kindness  was 
met  with  a  threat  to  publish  her  letters  to 
Sterne,  then  in  the  hands  of  the  widow  and 
daughter.  The  sad  record  is  relieved  by 
many  charming  feminine  traits  of  character, 
and  it  is  ennobled  by  the  mother  j'^earning 
to  be  with  her  children  left  behind  in  Eng- 
land. 

One  aspect  of  the  self-drawn  portrait  has 
especial  interest.  Mrs.  Draper  was — I  have 
said  it — a  blue-stocking.  She  was  probably 
not  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Montagu, 
whose  assemblies  of  blue-stockings  were  then 
famous;    but  the   Essay  on  the  JVritings  and 

xlvi 


INTRODUCTION 

Genius  of  Shakespear  had  reached  India. 
After  reading  Mrs.  Montagu's  book,  Mrs. 
Draper  declared  that  she  ' '  would  rather  be 
an  Attendant  on  her  Person,  than  the  first 
Peeress  of  the  Realm."  And  so  under  this 
new  inspiration  Mrs.  Draper  resumed  the 
scribbling  to  which  she  had  been  encour- 
aged by  Sterne.  "A  little  piece  or  two" 
that  she  "discarded  some  years  ago,"  were 
completed ;  they  were  ' '  not  perhaps  un- 
worthy of  the  press,"  but  they  were 
never  printed.  Though  these  efforts  seem 
to  be  lost,  Mrs.  Draper  took  advantage  of 
the  occasion  to  weave  into  her  letter  to 
Mrs.  James  various  little  essays  which  may 
be  described  in  her  phrase  as  "of  the  moral 
kind,"  because  they  have  to  do  with  prac- 
tical conduct.  Anxiety  for  the  welfare  of 
her  daughter  Betsey,  who  had  been  put  to 
school  at  Kensington,  leads  to  several  pages 
on  the  boarding-school  and  the  parlor- boarder, 
which  are  good  enough  to  find  a  place  in  one 
of  Mrs.  Chapone's  letters.  A  little  way  on, 
she  relates  the  * '  story  of  a  married  pair, 
which,"  she  says,  "  pleased  me  greatly, 
from  the  sensible  singularity  of  it."  The 
tale  tells  of  a  wealthy  and  indolent  man  in 

xlvii 


INTRODUCTION 

North  India  who  married  a  smart  young 
woman  to  ' '  rouse  his  mind  from  its  usual 
state  of  Inactivity ' '  —  and  he  succeeded. 
The  wife,  too,  discarded  her  hght  airs,  and 
became  a  most  agreeable  woman.  It  all 
reads  like  a  character  sketch  from  Margaret 
Duchess  of  Newcastle.  There  is  also  an 
experiment  in  the  sentimental  style,  wherein 
is  told  the  story  of  "  a  smart  pretty  French 
woman,"  who,  shutting  out  all  promiscuous 
loves  and  friendships,  kept  her  heart  for  her 
dear  husband  alone  and  one  "sweet  woman" 
across  the  Alps.  ' '  The  lovely  Janatone, ' ' 
writes  Mrs.  Draper,  "died  three  Years  ago — 
after  surviving  her  Husband  about  a  Week 
and  her  Friend  a  twelvemonth."  And  be- 
sides these,  there  are  other  sketches  from 
life,  and  vivid  descriptions  of  society  at 
Bombay.  If  Eliza  did  not  write  exactly, 
as  Sterne  flattered  her,  "with  an  angel's 
pen,"  she  knew  how  to  ramble  agreeably. 
Of  other  letters  by  Mrs.  Draper,  thirteen 
are  now  owned  by  Lord  Basing  of  Hodding- 
ton,  a  descendant  of  Mrs.  Draper's  uncle, 
Richard  Sclater.  These  letters,  which  are 
said  to  relate  mostly  to  family  affairs,  have 
not  been  procured  for  this  collection.      But 

xlviii 


INTRODUCTION 

their  tenor  may  perhaps  be  inferred  from 
the  letter  dated  TeUicherry,  April  1769, 
which  is  here  printed  from  the  autograph 
copy  in  the  British  Museum.  Though  the 
name  of  the  man  to  whom  it  was  addressed 
is  left  blank,  the  contents  show  that  he 
was  a  friend  of  the  Drapers  who  had  re- 
tired from  the  service  and  returned  to  Eng- 
land. The  letter  presents  a  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Draper,  not  the  blue-stocking  but  the  sensi- 
ble wife  who  has  resolved  to  adjust  herself 
to  the  humdrum  and  drudgery  of  official 
India.  Her  husband,  she  says,  has  lost  his 
two  clerks,  and  so  she  is  ''maintaining  his 
correspondence  for  him."  Quite  remarkable, 
too,  as  her  good  sense,  is  the  knowledge 
she  shows  of  the  intrigues  and  blunders 
that  culminated  in  the  troubles  with  Hyder 
Ali,  then  besieging  Madras  and  striking 
terror  throughout  South  India. 

Mrs.  Draper's  career  in  India  is  brought 
to  a  close  by  the  letters  written  on  the  eve 
of  her  elopement.  Now  in  private  hands  at 
Bombay,  they  were  published,  with  an  intro- 
ductory essay,  in  the  Times  of  India  for 
February  24,  1894,  and  in  the  overland 
weekly   issue    for    March    3,    1894.      In   the 

xlix 


INTRODUCTION 

first  of  them  Mrs.  Draper  gives  *'  a  faith- 
ful servant  and  friend" — one  Ehza  Mihill — 
an  order  on  George  Horsley,  Esq.,  in  Eng- 
land for  all  her  jewels,  valued  at  5001.  or 
more.  Accept  them,  the  generous  woman 
writes,  ' '  as  the  best  token  in  my  power, 
expressive  of  my  good- will  to  you."  Of 
the  Mr.  Horsley,  one  of  Mrs.  Draper's 
closest  friends,  who  had  gone  to  England 
for  his  health,  a  pretty  character- sketch 
was  made  two  years  before  in  the  long 
letter  to  Mrs.  James.  To  him  she  ad- 
dressed a  brief  impassioned  note — the  sec- 
ond of  the  series — explaining  what  she  has 
done  for  Betty  Mihill  and  what  she  is  about 
to  do  for  her  own  freedom.  The  third  let- 
ter, which  is  to  her  husband,  in  justification 
of  her  conduct,  was  composed  under  great 
agitation  of  mind,  as  she  was  awaiting  the 
moment  of  the  last  perilous  step.  Her 
pearls  and  silk  clothes  she  left  behind,  tak- 
ing, of  all  her  ornaments,  only  the  picture 
of  Betty  — ' '  my  dearest  girl, ' '  far  off  in 
England. 

For  Mrs.  Draper  after  her  escape  to 
England,  material  is  scant.  There  is  really 
nothing  very  trustworthy  except  an  undated 


INTRODUCTION 

letter  to  Wilkes  the  politician,  thanking  him 
for  a  "French  volume"  and  beseeching  him 
to  cease  from  his  flattery.  This  letter,  of 
which  the  original  is  in  the  British  Museum, 
is  here  printed  from  Mr.  Fitzgerald's  copy. 
A  degrading  anecdote  of  Combe's  is  omitted, 
as  it  seems  more  likely  to  be  false  than  true. 
We  conclude  with  the  eulogy  on  Eliza  by 
the  Abbe  Raynal,  the  second  ecclesiastic  to 
be  startled  out  of  propriety  by  that  oval  face 
and  those  brilliant  eyes. 

W.  L.  C. 


li 


LETTERS 


FROM 


YORICK    TO    ELIZA. 


TO   THE 
RIGHT    HONOURABLE 

LORD     APS  LEY, 

LORD  HIGH   CHANCELLOR 
OF  ENGLAND.* 

MY    LORD, 

THE    Editor  of  the  following  Letters  is 
so  far  from  having  tasted  your  Lord- 
ship's bounty,  that  he  is,  and  perhaps 
ever   must  remain,  a   stranger   to   your   per- 
son, consequently  no   adulation  is  to  be  ap- 
prehended from  him 

He  leaves  it  to  the  weak  and  oppressed, 
the    widow    and    orphan,    to    proclaim    your 

*  From  the  original  edition. 


DEDICATION 

Lordship's  virtues  in  your  public  capacity; 
that  which  he  would  celebrate  is  of  a  pri- 
vate nature,  namely,  your  filial  affection, 
which  is  so  conspicuous,  that  he  flatters 
himself  a  Volume  of  Letters  written  by 
such  a  person  as  Mr.  Sterne,  in  which 
your  noble  father"^  is  placed  in  a  light  so 
truly  amiable,  cannot  fail  of  engaging  your 
Lordship's  gracious  acceptance  and  protec- 
tion— in  this  hope,  and  upon  this  founda- 
tion, he  presumes  to  dedicate  these  papers 
to  your  Lordship,  and  to  have  the  honour 
of  subscribing   himself, 

My    Lord, 

your  Lordship's 
most    obedient, 
and  most  humble  Servant, 

THE  EDITOR. 


*Lord  Bathurst. 


PREFACE.* 

THE  foul  and  infamous  traffic,  between 
dishonest  booksellers,  and  profligate 
scribblers,  which  has  subsisted  for 
more  than  a  century,  has  justly  brought 
posthumous  publications  under  suspicion, 
in  England,  France,  and  more  especially 
in  Holland:  ministers  of  state  in  every 
European  court,  great  generals,  royal  mis- 
tresses, authors  of  established  reputation,  in 
a  word,  all  such  as  have  had  the  misfortune 
to  advance  themselves  to  eminence,  have 
been  obliged  to  leave  behind  them  parcels 
of  letters,  and  other  memoirs,  of  the  most 
secret  and  important  transactions  of  their 
times,  in  which,  every  fact  beyond  the  in- 
formation of  a  news-paper,  or  coffee-house 
chat,  is  so  faithfully  misrepresented,  every 
character  delineated  with  such  punctual  de- 
viation    from     the     truth,     and     causes     and 

*From  the  original  edition. 


PREFACE 

effects  which  have  no  possible  relation,  are 
with  such  amazing  effrontery  obtruded  upon 
the  public,  that  it  is  no  wonder  if  men  of 
sense,  who  read  for  instruction  as  well  as 
entertainment,  generally  condemn  them  in 
the  lump,  never,  or  very  rarely,  affording 
them  the  honour  of  a  perusal, — the  publisher 
of  these  letters,  however,  has  not  the  small- 
est apprehension  that  any  part  of  this  well 
grounded  censure  can  fall  to  his  share;  he 
deals  not  in  surprising  events  to  astonish 
the  reader,  nor  in  characters  (one  excepted) 
which  have  figured  on  the  great  theatre  of 
the  world;  he  purposely  waves  all  proofs 
which  might  be  drawn  concerning  their 
authenticity,  from  the  character  of  the  gen- 
tleman who  had  the  perusal  of  the  origi- 
nals, and,  with  Eliza's  permission,  faithfully 
copied  them  at  Bombay  in  the  East  Indies; 
from  the  testimony  of  many  reputable  fami- 
lies in  this  city,  who  knew  and  loved  Eliza, 
caressed  and  admired  Mr.  Sterne,  and  were 
well  acquainted  with  the  tender  friendship 
between  them ;  from  many  curious  anec- 
dotes in  the  letters  themselves,  any  one  of 
which  were  fully  sufficient  to  authenticate 
them,    and    submits    his    reputation    to    the 


PREFACE 

taste  and  discernment  of  the  commonest 
reader,  who  must,  in  one  view,  perceive 
that  these  letters  are  genuine,  beyond  any 
possibihty  of  doubt,  —  as  the  pubUc  is  un- 
questionably entitled  to  every  kind  of  in- 
formation concerning  the  characters  con- 
tained in  these  letters,  which  consists  with 
the  duties  of  humanity  and  a  good  citizen, 
that  is,  a  minute  acquaintance  with  those  of 
whom  honourable  mention  is  made,  or  the 
publisher  is  furnished  with  authorities  to 
vindicate  from  Mr.  Sterne's  censures,  which 
as  a  man  of  warm  temper  and  lively  imagi- 
nation, he  was  perhaps  sometimes  hurried 
into  without  due  reflection,  he  persuades 
himself  that  no  party  concerned,  will  or  can 
be  offended  with  this  publication,  especially 
if  it  is  considered  that  without  such  in- 
formation it  would  be  cold  and  unenter- 
taining;  that  by  publishing  their  merits  he 
cannot  be  understood  to  intend  them  any 
injury,  and  without  it,  he  would   in  himself 

fail  in  his  duty  to  the  public. Eliza,  the 

lady  to  whom  these  letters  are  addressed, 
is  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Draper,  wife  of  Daniel 
Draper,  Esq.  counsellor  at  Bombay,  and  at 
present  chief  of  the  English  factory  at  Su- 


PREFACE 

rat,  a  gentleman  very  much  respected  in 
that  quarter  of  the  globe — she  is  by  birth 
an  East-Indian;  but  the  circumstance  of  be- 
ing born  in  the  country  not  proving  suffi- 
cient to  defend  her  delicate  frame  against 
the  heats  of  that  burning  climate,  she  came 
to  England  for  the  recovery  of  her  health, 
when  by  accident  she  became  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Sterne.  He  immediately  discov- 
ered in  her  a  mind  so  congenial  with  his 
own,  so  enlightened,  so  refined,  and  so  ten- 
der, that  their  mutual  attraction  presently 
joined  them  in  the  closest  union  that  purity 
could  possibly  admit  of;  he  loved  her  as  his 
friend,  and  prided  in  her  as  his  pupil;  all 
her  concerns  became  presently  his ;  her 
health,  her  circumstances,  her  reputation, 
her  children,  were  his ;  his  fortune,  his 
time,  his  country,  were  at  her  disposal,  so 
far  as  the  sacrifice  of  all  or  any  of  these 
might,  in  his  opinion,  contribute  to  her  real 
happiness.  If  it  is  asked  whether  the  glow- 
ing heat  of  Mr.  Sterne's  affection  never 
transported  him  to  a  flight  beyond  the 
limits  of  pure  Platonism,  the  publisher  will 
not  take  upon  him  absolutely  to  deny  it; 
but  this  he  thinks,  so  far  from  leaving  any 


PREFACE 

stain  upon  that  gentleman's  memory,  that 
it  perhaps  includes  his  fairest  encomium; 
since  to  cherish  the  seeds  of  piety  and 
chastity  in  a  heart  which  the  passions  are 
interested  to  corrupt,  must  be  allowed  to 
be  the  noblest  effort  of  a  soul  fraught  and 
fortified  with  the  justest  sentiments  of  reli- 
gion and  virtue. — Mr.  and  Mrs.  James,  so 
frequently  and  honourably  mentioned  in 
these  letters,  are  the  worthy  heads  of  an 
opulent  family  in  this  city:  their  character 
is  too  well  established  to  need  the  aid  of 
the  publisher  in  securing  the  estimation  they 
so  well  deserve,  and  universally  possess,  yet 
he  cannot  restrain  one  observation;  that  to 
have  been  respected  and  beloved  by  Mr. 
Sterne  and  Mrs.  Draper,  is  no  inconsider- 
able testimony  of  their  merit,  and  such  as 
it  cannot  be  displeasing  to  them  to  see  pub- 
lished   to    the   world. Miss    Light,    now 

Mrs.  Stratton,  is  on  all  accounts  a  very 
amiable  young  lady — she  was  accidentally  a 
passenger  in  the  same  ship  with  Eliza,  and 
instantly  engaged  her  friendship  and  esteem; 
but  being  mentioned  in  one  of  Mrs.  Draper's 
letters  to  Mr.  Sterne,  in  somewhat  of  a  com- 
parative  manner   with   herself,   his   partiality 


PREFACE 

for  her,  as  she  modestly  expressed  it,  took 
the  alarm,  and  betrayed  him  into  some  ex- 
pressions, the  coarseness  of  which  cannot  be 
excused.  Mrs.  Draper  declares  that  this 
lady  was  entirely  unknown  to  him,  and  in- 
finitely superior  to  his  idea  of  her:  she  has 
been  lately  married  to  George  Stratton, 
Esq.  counsellor  at  Madrass. — The  manner 
in  which  Mr.  Sterne's  acquaintance  with 
the  celebrated  Lord  Bathurst,  the  friend 
and  companion  of  Addison,  Swift,  Pope, 
Steele,  and  all  the  finest  wits  of  the  last 
age,  commenced,  cannot  fail  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  curious  reader:  here,  that 
great  man  is  social  and  unreserved,  un- 
shackled with  that  sedulity  in  supporting  a 
feigned  character  which  exposes  most  of  his 
rank  to  the  contempt  of  wise  men,  and  the 
ridicule  of  their  valets  de  chambre;  here  he 
appears  the  same  as  in  his  hours  of  festivity 
and  happiness  with  Swift  and  Addison,  su- 
perior to  forms  and  ceremonies,  and,  in  his 
eighty-fifth  year,  abounding  in  wit,  vivacity, 
and  humanity:  methinks,  the  pleasure  of 
such  a  gentleman's  acquaintance  resembles 
that  of  conversing  with  superior  beings;  but 
it  is  not  fit  to  dwell  longer  on  this  pleasing 

10 


PREFACE 

topic,  lest  it  should  anticipate  the  reader's 
pleasure  in  perusing  the  letter  itself.  One 
remark  however  it  suggests,  which  may  be 
useful  to  old  men  in  general,  namely,  that 
it  appears  by  his  Lordship's  example,  the 
sour  contracted  spirit  observable  in  old  age, 
is  not  specifically  an  effect  of  years,  altho' 
they  are  commonly  pleaded  in  its  excuse. 
Old  men  would  therefore  do  well  to  cor- 
rect this  odious  quality  in  themselves;  or,  if 
that  must  not  be,  to  invent  a  better  apology 
for  it.  It  is  very  much  to  be  lamented,  that 
Eliza's  modesty  was  invincible  to  all  the 
publisher's  endeavours  to  obtain  her  answers 
to  these  letters:  her  wit,  penetration,  and 
judgment,  her  happiness  in  the  epistolary 
style,  so  rapturously  recommended  by  Mr. 
Sterne,  could  not  fail  to  furnish  a  rich  en- 
tertainment for  the  public.  The  publisher 
could  not  help  telling  her,  that  he  wished 
to  God  she  was  really  possessed  of  that 
vanity  with  which  she  was  charged;  to 
which  she  replied,  that  she  was  so  far  from 
acquitting  herself  of  vanity,  that  she  sus- 
pected that  to  be  the  cause  why  she  could 
not  prevail  on  herself  to  submit  her  letters 
to    the    public    eye;    for    altho'    Mr.    Sterne 

11 


PREFACE 

was  partial  to  every  thing  of  her's,  she 
could  not  hope  that  the  world  would  be 
so  too.  With  this  answer  he  was  obliged 
to  be  contented ;  yet  cannot  reflect  with- 
out deep  concern,  that  this  elegant  accom- 
plishment, so  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  re- 
fined and  delicate  understandings  of  ladies 
should  be  yet  so  rare,  that  we  can  boast 
of  only  one  Lady  Wortley  Montagu  among 
us;  and  that  Eliza,  in  particular,  could  not 
be  prevailed  on  to  follow  the  example  of 
that  admired  lady. — The  reader  will  remark 
that  these  letters  have  various  signatures; 
sometimes  he  signs  Sterne,  sometimes  Yor- 
ick,  and  to  one  or  two  he  signs  Her  Bramin. 
Altho'  it  is  pretty  generally  known  who  the 
Bramins  are,  yet  lest  any  body  should  be  at 
a  loss,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  observe,  that 
the  principal  cast  or  tribe  among  the  idola- 
trous Indians  are  the  Bramins,  and  out  of 
the  chief  class  of  this  cast  comes  the  priests 
so  famous  for  their  austerities,  and  the  shock- 
ing torments,  and  frequently  death,  they  vol- 
untarily expose  themselves  to,  on  a  religious 
account.  Now,  as  Mr.  Sterne  was  a  clergy- 
man, and  Eliza  an  Indian  by  birth,  it  was 
customary  with  her  to  call  him  her  Bramin, 

12 


PREFACE 

which  he  accordingly,  in  his  pleasant  moods, 
uses  as  a  signature. 

It  remains  only  to  take  some  notice  of 
the  family,  marked  with  asterisks,  on  whom 
Mr.  Sterne  has  thought  proper  to  shed  the 
bitterest  gall  of  his  pen.  It  is  however 
evident,  even  from  some  passages  in  the 
letters  themselves,  that  Mrs.  Draper  could 
not  be  easily  prevailed  on  to  see  this  family 
in  the  same  odious  light  in  which  they  ap- 
peared to  her  perhaps  over-zealous  friend. 
He,  in  the  heat,  or  I  may  say,  hurry  of  his 
affection,  might  have  accepted  suspicious 
circumstances  as  real  evidences  of  guilt,  or 
listened  too  unguardedly  to  the  insinuations 
of  their  enemies. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  as  the  publisher  is  not 
furnished  with  sufficient  authorities  to  excul- 
pate them,  he  chuses  to  drop  the  ungrate- 
ful subject,  heartily  wishing,  that  this  family 
may  not  only  be  innocent  of  the  shocking 
treachery  with  which  they  are  charged,  but 
may  be  able  to  make  their  innocence  appear 
clearly  to  the  world;  otherwise,  that  no  per- 
son may  be  industrious  enough  to  make 
known  their  name. 

13 


LETTERS 

FROM 
YORICK  TO  ELIZA 

LETTER    1.* 

ELIZA  will  receive  my  books  with  this. 
The   sermons   came   all    hot   from   the 
heart:    I  wish  that  I  could  give  them 
any    title    to    be    offered    to    yom-s.  —  The 
others    came    from    the    head  —  I    am    more 
indifferent   about  their  reception. 

I  know  not  how  it  comes  about,  but  I 
am  half  in  love  with  you — I  ought  to  be 
wholly  so;  for  I  never  valued  (or  saw  more 
good  qualities  to  value)  or  thought  more  of 
one  of  your  sex  than  of  you;    so  adieu. 

Yours  faithfully, 

if  not  affectionately, 

L.   Stp:rne. 

*  The  letters  to  Eliza  are  without  date.  The  first  letter 
belongs  to  January,  17(j7;  and  the  second  to  January  or  Feb- 
ruary; the  last  eight  were  written  during  the  week  or  thereabouts 
that  preceded  Mrs.  Draper's  departure  for  India  (April  3,  1767). 

15 


LETTERS 


LETTER    II. 

I  Cannot  rest,  Eliza,  though  I  shall  call 
on  you  at  half  past  twelve,  till  I  know 
how  you  do — May  thy  dear  face  smile, 
as  thou  risest,  like  the  sun  of  this  morning. 
I  was  much  grieved  to  hear  of  your  alarm- 
ing indisposition  yesterday;  and  disappointed 
too,  at  not  being  let  in. — Remember,  my 
dear,  that  a  friend  has  the  same  right  as 
a  physician.  The  etiquettes  of  this  town 
(you'll  say)  say  otherwise.  —  No  matter ! 
Delicacy  and  propriety  do  not  always  con- 
sist in  observing  their  frigid   doctrines. 

I  am  going  out  to  breakfast,  but  shall  be 
at  my  lodgings  by  eleven;  when  I  hope  to 
read  a  single  line  under  thy  own  hand,  that 
thou  art  better,  and  wilt  be  glad  to  see  thy 
Bramin. 

9  o'clock. 


16 


LETTERS 


LETTER    III. 

I  Got  thy  letter  last  night,  Eliza,  on  my 
return  fi'om  Lord  Bathurst's,  where  I 
dined,  and  where  I  was  heard  (as  I 
talked  of  thee  an  hour  without  intermission) 
with  so  much  pleasure  and  attention,  that 
the  good  old  Lord  toasted  your  health 
three  different  times;  and  now  he  is  in  his 
eighty-fifth  year,  says  he  hopes  to  live  long 
enough  to  be  introduced  as  a  friend  to  my 
fair  Indian  disciple,  and  to  see  her  eclipse 
all  other  nabobesses  as  much  in  wealth,  as 
she  does  already  in  exterior  and  (what  is 
far  better)  in  interior  merit.  I  hope  so  too. 
This  nobleman  is  an  old  friend  of  mine. — 
You  know  he  was  always  the  protector  of 
men  of  wit  and  genius;  and  has  had  those 
of  the  last  century,  Addison,  Steele,  Pope, 
Swift,  Prior,  &c.  &c.  always  at  his  table. — 
The  manner  in  which  his  notice  began  of 
me,  was  as  singular  as  it  was  polite. — He 
came  up  to  me,  one  day,  as  I  was  at  the 
Princess  of  Wales's  court.  "  I  want  to 
know    you,    Mr.    Sterne ;    but   it   is   fit   you 

17 


I.  E  T  T  E  R  S 

should  know,  also,  who  it  is  that  wishes 
this  pleasure.  You  have  heard,  continued 
he,  of  an  old  Lord  Bathurst,  of  whom 
your  Popes  and  Swifts  have  sung  and 
spoken  so  much:  I  have  lived  my  life  with 
geniuses  of  that  cast  ;  but  have  survived 
them ;  and,  despairing  ever  to  find  their 
equals,  it  is  some  years  since  I  have  closed 
my  accounts,  and  shut  up  my  books,  with 
thoughts  of  never  opening  them  again;  but 
you  have  kindled  a  desire  in  me  of  opening 
them  once  more  before  I  die;  which  I  now 
do;  so  go  home  and  dine  with  me." — This 
nobleman,  I  say,  is  a  prodigy;  for  at  eighty- 
five  he  has  all  the  wit  and  promptness  of  a 
man  of  thirty.  A  disposition  to  be  pleased, 
and  a  power  to  please  others  beyond  what- 
ever I  knew:  added  to  which,  a  man  of 
learning,   courtesy,  and   feeling. 

He  heard  me  talk  of  thee,  Eliza,  with 
uncommon  satisfaction;  for  there  was  only 
a  third  person,  and  of  sensibility,  with  us. — 
And  a  most  sentimental  afternoon,  'till  nine 
o'clock,  have  we  passed !  But  thou,  Eliza, 
wert  the  star  that  conducted  and  enliven 'd 
the  discourse. — And  when  I  talked  not  of 
thee,    still    didst    thou    fill    my    mind,    and 

18 


LETTERS 

warmed  every  thought  I  uttered;  for  I  am 
not  ashamed  to  acknowledge  I  greatly  miss 
thee. — Best  of  all  good  girls!  the  sufferings 
I  have  sustained  the  whole  night  on  account 
of  thine,  Eliza,  are  beyond  my  power  of 
words. — Assuredly  does  Heaven  give  strength 
proportioned  to  the  weight  he  lays  upon  us! 
Thou  hast  been  bowed  down,  my  child,  with 
every  burden  that  sorrow  of  heart,  and  pain 
of  body,  could  inflict  upon  a  poor  being ; 
and  still  thou  tellest  me,  thou  art  beginning 
to  get  ease; — thy  fever  gone,  thy  sickness, 
the  pain  in  thy  side  vanishing  also. — May 
every  evil  so  vanish  that  thwarts  Eliza's 
happiness,  or  but  awakens  thy  fears  for  a 
moment!  —  Fear  nothing,  my  dear!  —  Hope 
every  thing ;  and  the  balm  of  this  passion 
will  shed  its  influence  on  thy  health,  and 
make  thee  enjoy  a  spring  of  youth  and 
chearfulness,  more  than  thou  hast  hardly 
yet  tasted. 

And  so  thou  hast  fixed  thy  Bramin's  por- 
trait over  thy  writing-desk;  and  wilt  consult 

it  in  all  doubts  and  difficulties. Grateful 

and  good  girl !  Yorick  smiles  contentedly 
over  all  thou  dost;  his  picture  does  not  do 
justice  to  his  own  complacency! 

19 


LETTERS 

Thy  sweet  little  plan  and  distribution  of 
thy  time  —  how  worthy  of  thee !  Indeed, 
Eliza,  thou  leavest  me  nothing  to  direct 
thee  in ;  thou  leavest  me  nothing  to  re- 
quire, nothing  to  ask — but  a  continuation 
of  that  conduct  which  won  my  esteem,  and 
has  made  me  thy  friend  for  ever. 

May  the  roses  come  quick  back  to  thy 
cheeks,  and  the  rubies  to  thy  lips  !  But 
trust  my  declaration,  Eliza,  that  thy  hus- 
band (if  he  is  the  good,  feeling  man  I  wish 
him)  will  press  thee  to  him  with  more 
honest  warmth  and  affection,  and  kiss  thy 
pale,  poor,  dejected  face,  with  more  trans- 
port, than  he  would  be  able  to  do,  in  the 
best  bloom  of  all  thy  beauty; — and  so  he 
ought,  or  I  pity  him.  He  must  have 
strange  feelings,  if  he  knows  not  the  value 
of  such  a  creature  as  thou  art! 

I  am  glad  Miss  Light*  goes  with  you. 
She  may  relieve  you  from  many  anxious 
moments. — I  am  glad  your  ship-mates  are 
friendly  beings.  You  could  least  dispense 
with  what  is  contrary  to  your  own  nature, 
which   is   soft   and   gentle,   Eliza. — It  would 

*  Miss    Light    afterwards    married    George    Stratton,  Esq.,  in 
the  service  of  the  East  India  Company  at  Madras. 

20 


LETTERS 

civilize  savages. — Though  pity  were  it  thou 
shouldst  be  tainted  with  the  office !  How 
canst  thou  make  apologies  for  thy  last  let- 
ter? 'tis  most  delicious  to  me,  for  the  very 
reason  you  excuse  it.  Write  to  me,  my 
child,  only  such.  Let  them  speak  the  easy 
carelessness  of  a  heart  that  opens  itself,  any 
how,  and  every  how,  to  a  man  you  ought 
to  esteem  and  trust.  Such,  Eliza,  I  write 
to  thee,  —  and  so  I  should  ever  live  with 
thee,  most  artlessly,  most  affectionately,  if 
Providence  permitted  thy  residence  in  the 
same  section  of  the  globe;  for  I  am,  all  that 
honour  and  affection  can  make  me. 

Thy  Bramin. 


21 


LETTERS 


LETTER    IV. 

I  Write  this,  Eliza,  at  Mr.  James's,  whilst 
he  is  dressing,  and  the  dear  girl,  his  wife, 
is  writing,  beside  me,  to  thee.  —  I  got 
your  melancholy  billet  before  we  sat  down 
to  dinner.  'Tis  melancholy  indeed,  my  dear, 
to  hear  so  piteous  an  account  of  thy  sick- 
ness !  Thou  art  encountered  with  evils 
enow,  without  that  additional  weight  !  I 
fear  it  will  sink  thy  poor  soul,  and  body 
with  it,  past  recovery — Heaven  supply  thee 
with  fortitude!  We  have  talked  of  nothing 
but  thee,  Eliza,  and  of  thy  sweet  virtues, 
and  endearing  conduct,  all  the  afternoon. 
Mrs.  James,  and  thy  Bramin,  have  mixed 
their  tears  a  hundred  times,  in  speaking  of 
thy  hardships,  thy  goodness,  thy  graces. — 
The  ***=^'s,  by  heavens,  are  worthless!  I 
have  heard  enough  to  tremble  at  the  articu- 
lation of  the  name. — How  could  you,  Eliza, 
leave  them  (or  suffer  them  to  leave  you 
rather)  with  impressions  the  least  favour- 
able ?      I    have    told   thee   enough   to    plant 


LETTERS 

disgust  against  their  treachery  to  thee,  to 
the  last  hour  of  thy  hfe !  Yet  still,  thou 
toldest  INIrs.  James  at  last,  that  thou  be- 
lie vest  they  affectionately  love  thee. — Her 
delicacy  to  my  Eliza,  and  true  regard  to 
her  ease  of  mind,  have  saved  thee  from 
hearing  more  glaring  proofs  of  their  base- 
ness—  For  God's  sake  write  not  to  them; 
nor  foul  thy  fair  character  with  such  pol- 
luted hearts. — They  love  thee!  What  proof? 
Is  it  their  actions  that  say  so?  or  their  zeal 
for  those  attachments,  which  do  thee  hon- 
our, and  make  thee  happy  ?  or  their  ten- 
derness for  thy  fame?  No — But  they  weep, 
and  say  tende?^  things. — Adieu  to  all  such 
for  ever.  Mrs.  James's  honest  heart  revolts 
against  the  idea  of  ever  returning  them  one 
visit. — I  honour  her,  and  I  honour  thee,  for 
almost  every  act  of  thy  life,  but  this  blind 
partiality  for  an  unworthy  being. 

Forgive  my  zeal,  dear  girl,  and  allow  me 
a  right  which  arises  only  out  of  that  fund 
of  affection  I  have,  and  shall  preserve  for 
thee  to  the  hour  of  my  death  !  Reflect, 
Eliza,  what  are  my  motives  for  perpetually 
advising  thee?  think  whether  I  can  have 
any,    but    what    proceed    from    the    cause    I 

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LETTERS 

have  mentioned  !  I  think  you  are  a  very 
deserving  woman;  and  that  you  want  noth- 
ing but  firmness,  and  a  better  opinion  of 
yourself,  to  be  the  best  female  character  I 
know.  I  wish  I  could  inspire  you  with  a 
share  of  that  vanity  your  enemies  lay  to 
your  charge  (though  to  me  it  has  never 
been  visible) ;  because  I  think,  in  a  well- 
turned  mind,  it  will  produce  good  effects. 

I  probably  shall  never  see  you  more ;  yet 
I  flatter  myself  you'll  sometimes  think  of 
me  with  pleasure ;  because  you  must  be 
convinced  I  love  you,  and  so  interest  my- 
self in  your  rectitude,  that  I  had  rather 
hear  of  any  evil  befalling  you,  than  your 
want  of  reverence  for  yourself  I  had  not 
power  to  keep  this  remonstrance  in  my 
breast.  —  It's  now  out;  so  adieu.  Heaven 
watch  over  my  Eliza! 

Thine, 

YORICK. 


24 


LETTERS 


LETTER  V. 

TO  whom  should  Eliza  apply  in  her  dis- 
tress, but  to  her  friend  who  loves  her? 
why  then,  my  dear,  do  you  apologize 
for  employing  me  ?  Yorick  would  be  of- 
fended, and  with  reason,  if  you  ever  sent 
commissions  to  another,  which  he  could 
execute.  I  have  been  with  Zumps*;  and 
your  piano  forte  must  be  tuned  from  the 
brass  middle  string  of  your  guittar,  which  is 
C.  —  I  have  got  you  a  hammer  too,  and  a 
pair  of  plyers  to  twist  your  wire  with ;  and 
may  every  one  of  them,  my  dear,  vibrate 
sweet  comfort  to  my  hopes!  I  have  bought 
you  ten  handsome  brass  screws,  to  hang 
your  necessaries  upon:  I  purchased  twelve; 
but  stole  a  couple  from  you  to  put  up  in 
my  own  cabin,  at  Coxwould — I  shall  never 
hang,  or  take  my  hat  off  one  of  them,  but 
I  shall  think  of  you.  I  have  bought  thee, 
moreover,  a  couple  of  iron  screws,  which 
are  more  to  be  depended  on  than  brass,  for 
the  globes. 

*A  maker  of  musical  instruments. 

25 


LETTERS 

T  have  written,  also,  to  Mr.  Abraham 
Walker,  pilot  at  Deal,  that  I  had  dis- 
patched these  in  a  packet,  directed  to  his 
care;  which  I  desired  he  would  seek  after, 
the  moment  the  Deal  machine  arrived.  I 
have,  moreover,  given  him  directions,  what 
sort  of  an  arm-chair  you  would  want,  and 
have  directed  him  to  purchase  the  best  that 
Deal  could  afford,  and  take  it,  with  the  par- 
cel, in  the  first  boat  that  went  off.  Would 
I  could,  Eliza,  so  supply  all  thy  wants,  and 
all  thy  wishes!  It  would  be  a  state  of  hap- 
piness to  me. — The  journal  is  as  it  should 
be — all  but  its  contents.  Poor,  dear,  patient 
being !  I  do  more  than  pity  you ;  for  I 
think  I  lose  both  firmness  and  philosophy, 
as  I  figure  to  myself  your  distresses.  Do 
not  think  I  spoke  last  night  with  too  much 
asperity  of  ****;  there  was  cause;  and  be- 
sides, a  good  heart  ought  not  to  love  a  bad 
one;  and,  indeed,  cannot.  But,  adieu  to  the 
ungrateful  subject. 

I  have  been  this  morning  to  see  Mrs. 
James  —  She  loves  thee  tenderly,  and  un- 
feignedly.  —  She  is  alarmed  for  thee  —  She 
says  thou  looked'st  most  ill  and  melancholy 
on   going   away.      She   pities   thee.      I    shall 

26 


LETTERS 

visit  her  every  Sundaj^  while  I  am  in  town. 
As  this  may  be  my  last  letter,  I  earnestly 
bid  thee  farewell. — May  the  God  of  Kind- 
ness be  kind  to  thee,  and  approve  himself 
thy  protector,  now  thou  art  defenceless! 
And,  for  thy  daily  comfort,  bear  in  thy 
mind  this  truth,  that  whatever  measure  of 
sorrow  and  distress  is  thy  portion,  it  will 
be  repaid  to  thee  in  a  full  measure  of  happi- 
ness, by  the  Being  thou  hast  wisely  chosen 
for  thy   eternal   friend. 

Farewell,  farewell,  Eliza;  whilst  I  live, 
count  upon  me  as  the  most  warm  and  dis- 
interested of  earthly  friends. 

YORICK. 


27 


LETTERS 


LETTER   VI. 

MY    DEAREST    ELIZA ! 

I  Began  a  new  journal  this  morning;  you 
shall  see  it;  for  if  I  live  not  till  your 
return  to  England,  I  will  leave  it  you 
as  a  legacy.  'Tis  a  sorrowful  page;  but  I 
will  write  chearful  ones;  and  could  I  write 
letters  to  thee,  they  should  be  chearful  ones 
too:  but  few,  I  fear,  will  reach  thee!  How- 
ever, depend  upon  receiving  something  of 
the  kind  by  every  post ;  till  then,  thou 
wavest  thy  hand,  and  bid'st  me  write  no 
more. 

Tell  me  how  you  are;  and  what  sort  of 
fortitude  Heaven  inspires  you  with.  How 
are  you  accommodated,  my  dear  ?  Is  all 
right?  Scribble  away,  any  thing,  and  every 
thing  to  me.  Depend  upon  seeing  me  at 
Deal,  with  the  James's,  should  you  be  de- 
tained there  by  contrary  winds.  —  Indeed, 
Eliza,  I  should  with  pleasure  fly  to  you, 
could  I  be  the  means  of  rendering  you  any 

£3 


LETTERS 

service,  or  doing  you  kindness.  Gracious 
and  merciful  God!  consider  the  anguish  of 
a  poor  girl.  —  Strengthen  and  preserve  her 
in  all  the  shocks  her  frame  must  be  ex- 
posed to.  She  is  now  without  a  protector, 
but  thee!  Save  her  from  all  accidents  of  a 
dangerous  element,  and  give  her  comfort  at 
the  last. 

My  prayer,  Eliza,  I  hope,  is  heard;  for 
the  sky  seems  to  smile  upon  me,  as  I  look 
up  to  it.  I  am  just  returned  from  our  dear 
Mrs.  James's,  where  I  have  been  talking  of 
thee  for  three  hours.  —  She  has  got  your 
picture,  and  likes  it:  but  Marriot,  and  some 
other  judges,  agree  that  mine  is  the  better, 
and  expressive  of  a  sweeter  character.  But 
what  is  that  to  the  original?  yet  I  acknowl- 
edge that  hers  is  a  picture  for  the  world, 
and  mine  is  calculated  only  to  please  a 
very  sincere  friend,  or  sentimental  philoso- 
pher. —  In  the  one,  you  are  dressed  in 
smiles,  with  all  the  advantages  of  silks, 
pearls,  and  ermine ;  —  in  the  other,  simple 
as  a  vestal — appearing  the  good  girl  nature 
made  you; — which,  to  me,  conveys  an  idea 
of  more  unaffected  sweetness,  than  Mrs. 
Draper,    habited    for    conquest,    in    a    birth- 

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LETTERS 

day  suit,  with  her  countenance  animated, 
and  her  dimples  visible.  —  If  I  remember 
right,  Eliza,  you  endeavoured  to  collect 
every  charm  of  your  person  into  your  face, 
with  more  than  common  care,  the  day  you 
sat  for  Mrs.  James  —  Your  colour,  too, 
brightened;  and  your  eyes  shone  with  more 
than  usual  brilliancy.  I  then  requested  you 
to  come  simple  and  unadorned  when  j^ou 
sat  for  me — knowing  (as  I  see  with  unpre- 
judiced eyes)  that  you  could  receive  no  ad- 
dition from  the  silk-worm's  aid,  or  jeweller's 
polish.  Let  me  now  tell  you  a  truth,  which, 
I  believe,  I  have  uttered  before. — When  I 
first  saw  you,  I  beheld  you  as  an  object  of 
compassion,  and  as  a  very  plain  woman. 
The  mode  of  your  dress  (tho'  fashionable) 
disfigured  you.  —  But  nothing  now  could 
render  you  such,  but  the  being  solicitous  to 
make  yourself  admired  as  a  handsome  one. — 
You  are  not  handsome,  Eliza,  nor  is  yours  a 
face  that  will  please  the  tenth  part  of  your 
beholders, — but  are  something  more;  for  I 
scruple  not  to  tell  you,  I  never  saw  so  in- 
telligent, so  animated,  so  good  a  counte- 
nance; nor  was  there  (nor  ever  will  be), 
that   man  of  sense,  tenderness,  and   feeling, 

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LETTERS 

in  your  company  three  hours,  that  was  not 
(or  will  not  be)  your  admirer,  or  friend,  in 
consequence  of  it;  that  is,  if  you  assume, 
or  assumed,  no  character  foreign  to  your 
own,  but  appeared  the  artless  being  nature 
designed  you  for.  A  something  in  your 
eyes,  and  voice,  you  possess  in  a  degree 
more  persuasive  than  any  woman  I  ever 
saw,  read,  or  heard  of.  But  it  is  that  be- 
witching sort  of  nameless  excellence,  that 
men  of  nice  sensibility  alone  can  be  touched 
with. 

Were  your  husband  in  England,  I  would 
freely  give  him  five  hundred  pounds  (if 
money  could  purchase  the  acquisition),  to 
let  you  only  sit  by  me  two  hours  in  a  day, 
while  I  wrote  my  Sentimental  Journey.  I 
am  sure  the  work  would  sell  so  much  the 
better  for  it,  that  I  should  be  reimbursed 
the  sum  more  than  seven  times  told.  —  I 
would  not  give  nine  pence  for  the  picture 
of  you,  the  Newnhams  have  got  executed — 
It  is  the  resemblance  of  a  conceited,  made- 
up  coquette.  Your  eyes,  and  the  shape  of 
your  face  (the  latter  the  most  perfect  oval 
1  ever  saw),  which  are  perfections  that  must 
strike    the    most    indifferent   judge,    because 

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LETTERS 

they  are  equal  to  any  of  God's  works  in  a 
similar  way,  and  finer  than  any  I  beheld 
in  all  my  travels,  are  manifestly  injured  by 
the  affected  leer  of  the  one,  and  strange 
appearance  of  the  other;  owing  to  the  atti- 
tude of  the  head,  which  is  a  proof  of  the 
artist's,  or  your  friend's  false  taste.  The 
*###'g^  who  verify  the  character  I  once  gave 
of  teazing,  or  sticking  like  pitch,  or  bird- 
lime, sent  a  card  that  they  would  wait  on 
Mrs.  *^**  on  Friday. — She  sent  back,  she 
was  engaged. — Then  to  meet  at  Ranelagh, 
to-night. — She  answered,  she  did  not  go. — 
She  says,  if  she  allows  the  least  footing,  she 
never  shall  get  rid  of  the  acquaintance; 
which  she  is  resolved  to  drop  at  once.  She 
knows  them.  She  knows  they  are  not  her 
friends,  nor  yours  ;  and  the  first  use  they 
would  make  of  being  with  her,  would  be 
to  sacrifice  you  to  her  (if  they  could)  a 
second  time.  Let  her  not  then;  let  her 
not,  my  dear,  be  a  greater  friend  to  thee, 
than  thou  art  to  thyself.  She  begs  I  will 
reiterate  my  request  to  you,  that  you  will 
not  write  to  them.  It  will  give  her,  and 
thy  Bramin,  inexpressible  pain.  Be  assured, 
all  this   is   not  without  reason  on  her  side. 

32 


LETTERS 

I  have  my  reasons  too;  the  first  of  which 
is,  that  I  should  grieve  to  excess,  if  Ehza 
wanted  that  fortitude  her  Yorick  has  built 
so  high  upon.  I  said  I  never  more  would 
mention  the  name  to  thee;  and  had  1  not 
received  it,  as  a  kind  of  charge,  from  a  dear 
woman  that  loves  you,  I  should  not  have 
broke  my  word.  I  will  write  again  to-mor- 
row to  thee,  thou  best  and  most  endearing 
of  girls!  A  peaceful  night  to  thee.  My 
spirit  will  be  with  thee  through  every  watch 
of  it. 

Adieu. 


LETTER   VII. 

I  Think  you  could  act  no  otherwise  than 
you  did  with  the  young  soldier.  There 
was  no  shutting  the  door  against  him, 
either  in  politeness  or  humanity.  Thou 
tellest  me  he  seems  susceptible  of  tender 
impressions  :  and  that  before  Miss  Light 
has  sailed  a  fortnight,  he  will  be  in  love 
with  her. — Now  I  think  it  a  thousand  times 

33 


LETTERS 

more  likely  that  he  attaches  himself  to  thee, 
Eliza ;  because  thou  art  a  thousand  times 
more  amiable.  Five  months  with  Eliza; 
and  in  the  same  room  ;  and  an  amorous 
son  of  Mars  besides! — ''It  can  no  be,  mas- 
ser.^''  The  sun,  if  he  could  avoid  it,  would 
not  shine  upon  a  dunghill;  but  his  rays  are 
so  pure,  Eliza,  and  celestial, — I  never  heard 
that  they  were  polluted  by  it. — Just  such 
will  thine  be,  dearest  child,  in  this,  and 
every  such  situation  you  will  be  exposed 
to,  till  thou  art  fixed  for  life.  —  But  thy 
discretion,  thy  wisdom,  thy  honour,  the 
spirit  of  thy  Yorick,  and  thy  own  spirit, 
which  is  equal  to  it,  will  be  thy  ablest 
counsellors. 

Surely,  by  this  time,  something  is  doing 
for  thy  accommodation. — But  why  may  not 
clean  washing  and  rubbing  do,  instead  of 
painting  your  cabin,  as  it  is  to  be  hung  ? 
Paint  is  so  pernicious,  both  to  your  nerves 
and  lungs,  and  will  keep  you  so  much 
longer  too,  out  of  your  apartment;  where, 
I  hope,  you  will  pass  some  of  your  hap- 
piest hours. — 

I  fear  the  best  of  your  ship- mates  are 
only   genteel   by    comparison   with   the   con- 

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LETTERS 

trasted  crew,  with  which  thou  must  behold 
them.  So  was — you  know  who! — from  the 
same  fallacy  that  was  put  upon  the  judg- 
ment, when  —  but  I  will  not  mortify  you. 
If  they  are  decent,  and  distant,  it  is  enough; 
and  as  much  as  is  to  be  expected.  If  any 
of  them  are  more,  I  rejoice;  —  thou  wilt 
want  every  aid;  and  'tis  thy  due  to  have 
them.  Be  cautious  only,  my  dear,  of  inti- 
macies. Good  hearts  are  open,  and  fall 
naturally  into  them.  Heaven  inspire  thine 
with  fortitude,  in  this,  and  every  deadly 
trial!  Best  of  God's  works,  farewell!  Love 
me,  I  beseech  thee;  and  remember  me  for 
ever ! 

I   am,  my  Eliza,  and  will  ever  be,  in  the 
most  comprehensive  sense, 

Thy  friend, 

YORICK. 


P.  S.  Probably  you  will  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  writing  to  me  by  some  Dutch  or 
French  ship,  or  from  the  Cape  de  Verd 
Islands — it  will  reach   me  some  how. — 


35 


L  E  T  T  E  11  S 


LETTER   VIII. 

MY    DEAR    ELIZA ! 

OH!  I  greive  for  your  cabin. — And  the 
fresh  painting  will  be  enough  to  de- 
stroy every  nerve  about  thee.  Noth- 
ing so  pernicious  as  white  lead.  Take  care 
of  yourself,  dear  girl;  and  sleep  not  in  it 
too  soon.  It  will  be  enough  to  give  you 
a  stroke  of  an  epilepsy. 

T  hope  you  will  have  left  the  ship;  and 
that  my  Letters  may  meet,  and  greet  you, 
as  you  get  out  of  your  post-chaise,  at 
Deal. — When  you  have  got  them  all,  put 
them,  my  dear,  into  some  order. — The  first 
eight  or  nine,  are  numbered :  but  I  wrote 
the  rest  without  that  direction  to  thee;  but 
thou  wilt  find  them  out,  by  the  day  or 
hour,  which,  I  hope,  I  have  generally  pre- 
fixed to  them.  When  they  are  got  to- 
gether, in  chronological  order,  sew  them 
together  under  a  cover.  I  trust  they  will 
be  a  perpetual  refuge  to  thee,  from  time  to 
time;    and    that    thou    wilt  (when    weary  of 

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LETTERS 

fools,  and  uninteresting  discourse)  retire,  and 
converse  an  hour  with  them,  and  me. 

I  have  not  had  power,  or  the  heart,  to 
aim  at  enhvening  any  one  of  them,  with  a 
single  stroke  of  wit  or  humour;  but  they 
contain  something  better;  and  what  you 
will  feel  more  suited  to  your  situation — 
a  long  detail  of  much  advice,  truth,  and 
knowledge.  T  hope,  too,  you  will  perceive 
loose  touches  of  an  honest  heart,  in  every 
one  of  them;  which  speak  more  than  the 
most  studied  periods ;  and  will  give  thee 
more  ground  of  trust  and  reliance  upon 
Yorick,  than  all  that  laboured  eloquence 
could  supply.  Lean  then  thy  whole  weight, 
Eliza,  upon  them  and  upon  me.  "  May 
poverty,  distress,  anguish,  and  shame,  be 
my  portion,  if  ever  I   give    thee    reason    to 

repent    the    knowledge    of    me. ' ' With 

this  asseveration,  made  in  the  presence  of 
a  just  God,  I  pray  to  him,  that  so  it  may 
speed  with  me,  as  I  deal  candidly,  and 
honourably  with  thee !  T  would  not  mis- 
lead thee,  Eliza;  I  would  not  injure  thee, 
in  the  opinion  of  a  single  individual,  for 
the  richest  crown  the  proudest  monarch 
wears. 

37 


LETTERS 

Remember,  that  while  I  have  hfe  and 
power,  whatever  is  mine,  you  may  style, 
and  think,  yours. — Though  sorry  should  I 
be,  if  ever  my  friendship  was  put  to  the 
test  thus,  for  your  own  delicacy's  sake. — 
Money  and  counters  are  of  equal  use,  in 
my  opinion ;  they  both  serve  to  set  up 
with. 

I  hope  you  will  answer  me  this  letter; 
but  if  thou  art  debarred  by  the  elements, 
which  hurry  thee  away,  I  will  write  one  for 
thee;  and  knowing  it  is  such  a  one  as  thou 
would 'st  have  written,  I  will  regard  it  as 
my  Eliza's. 

Honour,  and  happiness,  and  health,  and 
comforts  of  every  kind,  sail  along  with  thee, 
thou  most  worthy  of  girls !  I  will  live  for 
thee,  and  my  Lydia — be  rich  for  the  dear 
children  of  my  heart — gain  wisdom,  gain 
fame,  and  happiness,  to  share  with  them — 
with  thee — and  her,  in  my  old  age. — Once 
for  all,  adieu.  Preserve  thy  life;  steadily 
pursue  the  ends  we  proposed;  and  let  noth- 
ing rob  thee  of  those  powers  Heaven  has 
given  thee  for  thy  well-being. 

What  can  I  add  more,  in  the  agitation  of 
mind    T   am   in,  and   within  five    minutes  of 

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LETTERS 

the  last  postman's  bell,  but  recommend 
thee  to  Heaven,  and  recommend  myself  to 
Heaven  with  thee,  in  the  same  fervent 
ejaculation,  "that  we  may  be  happy,  and 
meet  again;  if  not  in  this  world,  in  the 
next." — Adieu,  —  I  am  thine,  Eliza,  affec- 
tionately, and  everlastingly, 

YORICK. 


LETTER    IX. 

I   Wish  to   God,   Eliza,   it  was   possible  to 
postpone    the   voyage    to    India,    for    an- 
other year. — For   I   am  firmly  persuaded 
within    my    own    heart,    that    thy    husband 
could  never  limit  thee  with  regard  to  time. 

I    fear    that    Mr.    B has   exaggerated 

matters.  —  I  like  not  his  countenance.  It 
is  absolutely  killing. — Should  evil  befal  thee, 
what  will  he  not  have  to  answer  for?  I 
know  not  the  being  that  will  be  deserving 
of  so  much  pity,  or  that  I  shall  hate  more. 
He  will  be  an  outcast,  alien — In  which  case 
I    will    be    a    father    to    thy    children,    my 

39 


LETTERS 

good  girl! — therefore  take  no  thought  about 
them. — 

But,  Ehza,  if  thou  art  so  very  ill,  still 
put  off  all  thoughts  of  returning  to  India 
this  year.  —  Write  to  your  husband  —  tell 
him  the  truth  of  your  case. — If  he  is  the 
generous,  humane  man  you  describe  him  to 
be,  he  cannot  but  applaud  your  conduct. — 
I  am  credibly  informed,  that  his  repugnance 
to  your  living  in  England  arises  only  from 
the  dread,  which  has  entered  his  brain,  that 
thou  mayest  run  him  in  debt,  beyond  thy 
appointments,  and  that  he  must  discharge 
them — that  such  a  creature  should  be  sacri- 
ficed for  the  paltry  consideration  of  a  few 
hundreds,  is  too,  too  hard!  Oh!  my  child! 
that  I  could,  with  propriety  indemnify  him 
for  every  charge,  even  to  the  last  mite, 
that  thou  hast  been  of  to  him!  With  joy 
would  I  give  him  my  whole  subsistence — 
nay,  sequester  my  livings,  and  trust  the 
treasures  Heaven  has  furnished  my  head 
with,  for  a  future  subsistence. — 

You  owe  much,  I  allow,  to  your  hus- 
band,— you  owe  something  to  appearances, 
and  the  opinion  of  the  world ;  but,  trust 
me,    my    dear,    you    owe    much    likewise    to 

40 


LETTERS 

yourself. — Return  therefore,  from  Deal,  if 
you  continue  ill. — I  will  prescribe  for  you, 
gratis. — You  are  not  the  first  woman,  by 
many,  I  have  done  so  for,  with  success.  I 
will  send  for  my  wife  and  daughter,  and 
they  shall  carry  you,  in  pursuit  of  health, 
to  Montpelier,  the  wells  of  Bancois,  the 
Spa,  or  whither  thou  wilt.  Thou  shalt 
direct  them,  and  make  parties  of  pleasure 
in  what  corner  of  the  world  fancy  points 
out  to  thee.  We  shall  fish  upon  the  banks 
of  Arno,  and  lose  ourselves  in  the  sweet 
labyrinths  of  its  vallies. — And  then  thou 
should 'st  warble  to  us,  as  I  have  once  or 
twice  heard  thee. — "I'm  lost,  I'm  lost" — 
but  we  should  find  thee  again,  my  Eliza. — 
Of  a  similar  nature  to  this,  was  your  phy- 
sician's prescription:  "Use  gentle  exercise, 
the  pure  southern  air  of  France,  or  milder 
Naples — with  the  society  of  friendly,  gentle 
beings."  Sensible  man!  He  certainly  en- 
tered into  your  feelings.  He  knew  the  fal- 
lacy of  medicine  to  a  creature,  whose  ill- 
ness    HAS    ARISEN    FROM    THE    AFFLICTION    OF 

HER  MIND.  Time  only,  my  dear,  I  fear 
you  must  trust  to,  and  have  your  reliance 
on;    may  it  give   you   the  health   so   enthu- 

41 


LETTERS 

siastic    a    votary    to    the    charming    goddess 
deserves. 

I  honour  you,  EHza,  for  keeping  secret 
some  things,  which  if  explained,  had  been 
a  panegyric  on  yourself  There  is  a  dignity 
in  venerable  affliction  which  will  not  allow 
it  to  appeal  to  the  world  for  pity  or  re- 
dress. Well  have  you  supported  that  char- 
acter, my  amiable,  philosophic  friend!  And, 
indeed,  I  begin  to  think  you  have  as  many 
virtues  as  my  uncle  Toby's  widow. — I  don't 
mean  to  insinuate,  hussey,  that  my  opinion 
is  no  better  founded  than  his  was  of  Mrs. 
Wadman;  nor  do  I  conceive  it  possible  for 
any  Trim  to  convince  me  it  is  equally  falla- 
cious.— I  am  sure,  while  I  have  my  reason, 
it  is  not. — Talking  of  widows — pray,  Eliza, 
if  ever  you  are  such,  do  not  think  of  giving 
yourself  to  some  wealthy  nabob — because  I 
design  to  marry  you  myself — My  wife  can- 
not live  long — she  has  sold  all  the  provinces 
in  France  already  —  and  I  know  not  the 
woman  I  should  like  so  well  for  her  sub- 
stitute as  yourself — 'Tis  true,  I  am  ninety- 
five  in  constitution,  and  you  but  twenty- 
five — rather  too  great  a  disparity  this! — but 
what  I  want  in  youth,   I  will  make  up  in 

42 


LETTERS 

wit  and  good  humour. — Not  Swift  so  loved 
his  Stella,  Scarron  his  Maintenon,  or  Waller 
his  Sacharissa,  as  I  will  love,  and  sing  thee, 
my  wife  elect!  All  those  names,  eminent 
as  they  were,  shall  give  place  to  thine, 
Eliza.  Tell  me,  in  answer  to  this,  that 
you  approve  and  honour  the  proposal,  and 
that  you  would  (like  the  Spectator's  mis- 
tress) have  more  joy  in  putting  on  an  old 
man's  slipper,  than  associating  with  the  gay, 
the  voluptuous,  and  the  young. — Adieu,  my 
Simplicia ! 

Yours, 

Tristram. 


43 


LETTERS 


LETTER    X. 


MY    DEAR     ELIZA 


I  Have  been  within  the  verge  of  the  gates 
of  death. — I  was  ill  the  last  time  I  wrote 
to  you,  and  apprehensive  of  what  would 
be  the  consequence.  —  My  fears  were  but 
too  well  founded;  for,  in  ten  minutes  after 
I  dispatched  my  letter,  this  poor,  fine-spun 
frame  of  Yorick's  gave  way,  and  I  broke  a 
vessel  in  my  breast,  and  could  not  stop  the 
loss  of  blood  till  four  this  morning.  I  have 
filled  all  thy  India  handkerchiefs  with  it. — 
It  came,  I  think,  from  my  heart  I  I  fell 
asleep  through  weakness.  At  six  I  awoke, 
with  the  bosom  of  my  shirt  steeped  in  tears. 
I  dreamt  I  was  sitting  under  the  canopy  of 
Indolence,  and  that  thou  camest  into  the 
room,  with  a  shaul  in  thy  hand,  and  told 
me,  my  spirit  had  flown  to  thee  in  the 
Downs,  with  tidings  of  my  fate;  and  that 
you  were  come  to  administer  what  conso- 
lation  filial   affection    could    bestow,   and   to 


44 


LETTERS 

receive  my  parting  breath  and  blessing. — 
With  that  you  folded  the  shaul  about  my 
waist,  and,  kneeling,  supphcated  my  atten- 
tion. I  awoke;  but  in  what  a  frame  I  Oh! 
my  God  !  "  But  thou  wilt  number  my 
tears,  and  put  them  all  into  thy  bottle." — 
Dear  girl !  I  see  thee, — thou  art  for  ever 
present  to  my  fancy, — embracing  my  feeble 
knees,  and  raising  thy  fine  eyes  to  bid  me 
be  of  comfort:  and  when  I  talk  to  Lydia, 
the  words  of  Esau,  as  uttered  by  thee,  per- 
petually ring  in  my  ears — "Bless  me  even 
also,  my  father  !  "  —  Blessing  attend  thee, 
thou  child  of  my  heart! 

My  bleeding  is  quite  stopped,  and  I  feel 
the  principle  of  life  strong  within  me;  so 
be  not  alarmed,  Eliza — I  know  I  shall  do 
well.  I  have  eat  my  breakfast  with  hunger; 
and  I  write  to  thee  with  a  pleasure  arising 
from  that  prophetic  impression  in  my  im- 
agination, that  ' '  all  will  terminate  to  our 
heart's  content."  Comfort  thyself  eternally 
with  this  persuasion,  "that  the  best  of  be- 
ings (as  thou  hast  sweetly  expressed  it) 
could  not,  by  a  combination  of  accidents, 
produce  such  a  chain  of  events,  merely  to 
be  the  source  of  misery  to  the  leading  per- 

45 


LETTEKS 

son  engaged  in  them."  The  observation 
was  very  appUcable,  very  good,  and  very 
elegantly  expressed.  I  vv^ish  my  memory 
did  justice  to  the  wording  of  it. — Who 
taught  you  the  art  of  writing  so  sweetly, 
Eliza  ? — You  have  absolutely  exalted  it  to 
a  science!  When  I  am  in  want  of  ready 
cash,  and  ill  health  will  permit  my  genius 
to  exert  itself,  I  shall  print  your  letters,  as 
finished  essays,  "by  an  unfortunate  Indian 
lady."  The  style  is  new;  and  would  almost 
be  a  sufficient  recommendation  for  their  sell- 
ing well,  without  merit — but  their  sense,  nat- 
ural ease,  and  spirit,  is  not  to  be  equalled,  I 
believe,  in  this  section  of  the  globe;  nor,  I 
will  answer  for  it,  by  any  of  your  country- 
women in  yours. — I  have  shewed  your  let- 
ter to  Mrs.  B — ,  and  to  half  the  literati  in 
town. — You  shall  not  be  angry  with  me  for 
it,  because  I  meant  to  do  you  honour  by 
it.— You  cannot  imagine  how  many  admirers 
your  epistolary  productions  have  gained  you, 
that  never  viewed  your  external  merits.  I 
only  wonder  where  thou  could 'st  acquire  thy 
graces,  thy  goodness,  thy  accomplishments — 
so  connected!  so  educated!  Nature  has  sure- 
ly studied  to  make  thee  her  pecuhar  care — 

46 


LETTERS 

for  thou  art  (and  not  in  my  eyes  alone)  the 
best  and  fairest  of  all  her  works. — 

And  so  this  is  the  last  letter  thou  art  to 
receive  from  me;  because  the  Earl  of  Chat- 
ham* (I  read  in  the  papers)  is  got  to  the 
Downs;  and  the  wind,  I  find,  is  fair.  If 
so — blessed  woman!  take  my  last,  last  fare- 
well !  —  Cherish  the  remembrance  of  me  ; 
think  how  I  esteem,  nay  how  affectionately 
I  love  thee,  and  what  a  price  I  set  upon 
thee!  Adieu,  adieu!  and  with  my  adieu — 
let  me  give  thee  one  streight  rule  of  con- 
duct, that  thou  hast  heard  from  my  lips  in 
a  thousand  forms — but  I  concenter  it  in  one 
word, 

Reverence   Thyself. 

Adieu,  once  more,  Eliza !  May  no  an- 
guish of  heart  plant  a  wrinkle  upon  thy 
face,  till  I  behold  it  again!  May  no  doubt 
or  misgivings  disturb  the  serenity  of  thy 
mind,  or  awaken  a  painful  thought  about 
thy  children  —  for  they  are  Yorick's  —  and 
Yorick  is  thy  friend  for  ever  !  —  Adieu, 
adieu,   adieu  ! 

*  By  the  newspapers  of  the   times   it  appears  that   the  Earl 
of  Chatham,  East  Indiaman,  sailed  from  Deal,  April  3,   1767. 

4T 


LETTERS 

P.  S.  Remember,  that  Hope  shortens  all 
journies,  by  sweetening  them — so  sing  my 
little  stanza  on  the  subject,  with  the  devo- 
tion of  an  hymn,  every  morning  when  thou 
arisest,  and  thou  wilt  eat  thy  breakfast  with 
more  comfort  for  it. 

Blessings,  rest,  and  Hygeia  go  with  thee! 
May'st  thou  soon  return,  in  peace  and 
affluence,  to  illumine  my  night !  1  am, 
and  shall  be,  the  last  to  deplore  thy  loss, 
and  will  be  the  first  to  congratulate  and 
hail  thy  return. — 

Fare  thee   well! 


48 


THE    JOURNAL    TO    ELIZA 


■fMi"i!i!>'''WM 


iombof  Kliza  Draper  in  Bristol  Cathedral. W 


.Itibyrini J   luje.nci  m   ijm^i^ 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 


THIS  Journal  wrote  under  the  fictitious 
names  of  Yorick  &  Draper — and  some- 
times of  the  Bramin  &  Bramine — but 
tis  a  Diary  of  the  miserable  feelings  of  a 
person  separated  from  a  Lady  for  whose 
Society  he  languish'd — The  real  Names — are 
foreigne — &  the  acc^    a   copy  from   a  french 

Mans* — in   M!"  S s  hands — but  wrote  as 

it  is,  to  cast  a  Viel  over  them — There  is  a 
Counterpart — which  is  the  Lady's  ace*  what 
transactions  dayly  happend — &  what  Senti- 
ments occupied  her  mind,  during  this  Sepa- 
ration from  her  admirer — these  are  worth 
reading — the  translator  cannot  say  so  much 
in  favT  of  Yoricks  which  seem  to  have  little 
merit  beyond  their  honesty  &;  truth.* 


*  The  Journal  to  Eliza,  or  The  Continuation  of  the  Bramines 
Journal — Sterne's  phrase  written  above  the  first  entry — is  printed 
just  as  Sterne  left  it,  with  its  wild  chronology  and  all  its  vagaries 
in  spelling  and  punctuation.  This  descriptive  title-page,  as  well 
as  the  Journal  itself,  is  in  Sterne's  own  hand. 

51 


LETTERS 


CONTINUATION    OF    THE 
BRAMINES    JOURNAL. 


([S]he  saild  23*) 


Sunday  Ap:  13.  t 


WROTE  the  last  farewel  to  Eliza  by 
MT  Wats  who  sails  this  day  for 
Bombay — inclosed  her  likewise  the 
Journal  kept  from  the  day  we  parted,  to 
this  —  so  from  hence  continue  it  till  the 
time  we  meet  again — Eliza  does  the  same, 
so  we  shall  have  mutual  testimonies  to  de- 
liver hereafter  to  each  other,  That  the  Sun 
has  not  more  constantly  rose  &  set  upon  the 
earth,  than  we  have  thought  of  &  remem- 
ber'd,  what  is  more  chearing  than  Light 
itself —  eternal  Sunshine !  Eliza  1  —  dark  to 
me  is  all  this  world  without  thee!  &  most 
heavily  will  every  hour  pass  over  my  head, 
till  that  is  come  w^^  brings  thee,  dear  Woman 
back    to    Albion,     dined    with    Hall    &c.    at 

*The  mistake  in  date  is  obvious, 
t  Sunday  fell  on  the  12th  in  April  1767. 

62 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

the  brawn's  head — the  whole  Pandamonium 
assembled — supp'd  together  at  Halls — worn 
out  both  in  body  &;  mind,  &  paid  a  severe 
reckoning  all  the  night. 

Ap:  14.  Got  up  tottering  &  feeble — then 
is  it  Eliza,  that  I  feel  the  want  of  thy  friendly 
hand  &  friendly  Council — &  yet,  with  thee 
beside  me,  thy  Bramin  would  lose  the  merit 
of  his  virtue — he  could  not  err — but  I  will 
take  thee  upon  any  terms  Eliza!  I  shall  be 
happy  here — &  I  will  be  so  just,  so  kind 
to  thee,  I  will  deserve  not  to  be  miserable 
hereafter — a  Day  dedicated  to  Abstinence  & 
reflection — &;  what  object  will  employ  the 
greatest  part  of  mine — full  well  does  my 
Eliza  know. 

Munday.   Ap:  15. 

worn  out  with  fevers  of  all  kinds,  but 
most,  by  that  fever  of  the  heart  with  w^.^ 
I'm  eternally  wasting,  &  shall  waste  till  I 
see  Eliza  again  —  dreadful  Suffering  of  15 
months! — it  may  be  more — great  Controuler 
of  Events!  surely  thou  wilt  proportion  this, 
to  my  Strength,  and  to  that  of  my  Eliza, 
pass'd   the   whole    afternoon    in    reading   her 

53 


LETTERS 

Letters,  &  reducing  them  to  the  order  in 
which  they  were  wrote  to  me — staid  the 
whole  evening  at  home  —  no  pleasure  or 
Interest  in  either  Society  or  Diversions — 
What  a  change,  my  dear  Girl,  hast  thou 
made  in  me! — but  the  Truth  is,  thou  hast 
only  turn'd  the  tide  of  my  passions  a  new 
way — they  flow  Eliza  to  thee — &  ebb  from 
every  other  Object  in  this  world — &  Reason 
tells  me  they  do  right — for  my  heart  has 
rated  thee  at  a  Price,  that  all  the  world  is 
not  rich  enough  to  purchase  thee  from  me, 
at.      In  a  high  fever  all  the  night. 

Ap:  16.  and  got  up  so  ill,  I  could  not 
go  to  M^^  James  as  I  had  promised  her — 
took  James's  Powder  however — &  leand  the 
whole  day  with  my  head  upon  my  hand, 
sitting  most  dejectedly  at  the  Table  with 
my  Eliza's  Picture  before  me — sympathizing 
&  soothing  me — O  my  Bramine!  my  Friend! 
my  Help-mate! — for  that  (if  I'm  a  prophet) 
is  the  Lot  mark'd  out  for  thee; — &  such  I 
consider  thee  now,  &  thence  it  is,  Eliza,  I 
share  so  righteously  with  thee  in  all  the  evil 
or  good  which  befalls  thee  —  But  all  our 
portion  is  Evil  now,  &  all  our  hours  grief — 

54, 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

T  look  forwards  towards  the  Elysium  we 
have  so  often  and  rapturously  talk'd  of — 
Cordelia's  spirit  will  fly  to  tell  thee  in 
some  sweet  Slumber,  the  moment  the  door 
is  open'd  for  thee  &  The  Bramin  of  the 
Vally,  shall  follow  the  track  wherever  it 
leads  him,  to  get  to  his  Eliza,  &  invite  her 
to  his  Cottage — 

5  in  the  afternoon — I  have  just  been  eat- 
ing my  Chicking,  sitting  over  my  repast  upon 
it,  with  Tears — a  bitter  Sause — Eliza!  but  I 
could  eat  it  with  no  other  —  when  Molly 
spread  the  Table  Cloath,  my  heart  fainted 
within  me — one  solitary  plate — one  knife — 
one  fork — one  Glass! — O  Eliza!  twas  pain- 
fully distressing, — I  gave  a  thousand  pen- 
sive penetrating  Looks  at  the  Arm  chair 
thou  so  often  graced  on  these  quiet,  senti- 
mental Repasts — &  sighed  &  laid  down  my 
knife  &;  fork, — &  took  out  my  handkerchief, 
clap'd  it  across  my  face  &  wept  like  a  child 
— I  shall  read  the  same  affecting  acc*^  of 
many  a  sad  Dinner  w^.^  Eliza  has  had  no 
power  to  taste  of,  from  the  same  feelings 
&  recollections,  how  She  and  her  Bramin  have 
eat  their  bread  in  peace  and  Love  together. 

55 


LETTERS 

April  17.  with  my  friend  M^^  James  in 
Gerard  street,  with  a  present  of  Colours  & 
apparatus  for  painting: — Long  Conversation 
about  thee  my  Eliza — sunk  my  heart  w*^!*  an 
infamous  acc*^  of  Draper  &  his  detested 
Character  at  Bombay — for  what  a  wretch 
art  thou  hazarding  thy  life,  my  dear  friend, 
&  what  thanks  is  his  nature  capable  of  re- 
turning?— thou  wilt  be  repaid  with  Injuries 
&  Insults!  Still  there  is  a  blessing  in  store 
for  the  meek  and  gentle,  and  Eliza  will  not 
be  disinherited  of  it:  her  Bramin  is  kept 
alive  by  this  hope  only — otherwise  he  is  so 
sunk  both  in  Spirits  and  looks,  Eliza  would 
scarce  know  him  again,  dined  alone  again 
to-day;  &  begin  to  feel  a  pleasure  in  this 
kind  of  resigned  misery  arising  from  this 
situation  of  heart  unsupported  by  aught 
but  its  own  tenderness — Thou  owest  me 
much  Eliza! — &  I  will  have  patience;  for 
thou  wilt  pay  me  all — But  the  Demand  is 
equal;    much    I    owe    thee,    &    with    much 

shalt  thou  be   requited. sent  for  a  Chart 

of  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  to  make  conjectures 
upon  what  part  of  it  my  Treasure  was  float- 
ing— O !  tis  but  a  little  way  off — and  I  could 
venture   after   it   in    a   Boat,  methinks — I'm 

56 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

sure  I  could,  was  I  to  know  Eliza  was  in 
distress  —  but  fate  has  chalk 'd  out  other 
roads  for  us — We  must  go  on  with  many 
a  weary  step,  each  in  his  separate  heartless 
track,  till  Nature 

Ap:  18. 

This  day  set  up  my  Carriage, — new  Sub- 
ject of  heartache.  That  Eliza  is  not  here  to 
share  it  with  me. 

Bought  Orm's  account  of  India — why  ? 
Let  not  my  Bramine  ask  me — her  heart 
will  tell  her  why  I  do  this,  &  every 
Thing— 

Ap:  19  —  poor  sick-headed,  sick  hearted 
Yorick!  Eliza  has  made  a  shadow  of  thee 
— I  am  absolutely  good  for  nothing,  as 
every  mortal  is  who  can  think  &  talk  but 
upon  one  thing !  —  how  I  shall  rally  my 
powers  alarms  me  ;  for  Eliza  thou  has 
melted  them  all  into  one  —  the  power  of 
loving  thee  &  with  such  ardent  affection 
as  triumphs  over  all  other  feelings  —  was 
with  our  faithful  friend  all  the  morning; 
&  dined  with  her  &  James — What  is  the 
Cause,  that   I   can   never   talk   ab!  my  Eliza 

57 


LETTERS 

to  her,  but  I  am  rent  in  pieces — I  burst 
into  tears  a  dozen  different  times  after  din- 
ner, &  such  affectionate  gusts  of  passion, 
That  she  was  ready  to  leave  the  room, — 
&  sympathize  in  private  for  us — I  weep  for 
you  both,  said  she  (in  a  whisper,)  for  EHza's 
anguish  is  as  sharp  as  yours — her  heart  as 
tender — her  constancy  as  great — heaven  join 
your  hands  I'm  sure  together! — James  was 
occupied  in  reading  a  pamphlet  upon  the 
East  India  affairs — so  I  answerd  her  with 
a  kind  look,  a  heavy  sigh,  and  a  stream  of 
tears — what  was  passing  in  Eliza's  breast, 
at  this  affecting  Crisis? — something  kind,  and 
pathetic, !    I  will  lay  my  Life. 

8  o'clock — retired  to  my  room,  to  tell  my 
dear  this — to  run  back  the  hours  of  Joy  I 
have  pass'd  with  her — &  meditate  upon  those 
w'^^  are  still  in  reserve  for  Us. — By  this  time 
Mt  James  tells  me,  You  will  have  got  as  far 
from  me,  as  the  Maderas — &  that  in  two 
months  more,  you  will  have  doubled  the 
Cape  of  good  hope — I  shall  trace  thy  track 
every  day  in  the  map,  &  not  allow  one 
hour  for  contrary  Winds,  or  Currants — every 
engine  of   nature  shall  work  together  for  us 

58 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

— Tis  the  Language  of  Love — &  I  can  speak 
no  other.  &  so,  good  night  to  thee,  &  may 
the  gentlest  delusions  of  love  impose  upon 
thy  dreams,  as  I  forbode  they  will,  this 
night,  on  those  of  thy  Bramine. 

Ap:  20.     Easter  Sunday. 

was  not  disappointed — yet  awoke  in  the 
most  acute  pain — Something  Eliza  is  wrong 
with  me — you  should  be  ill,  out  of  Sym- 
pathy— &  yet  you  are  too  ill  already — my 
dear  friend — all  day  at  home  in  extream 
dejection. 

Ap:  21.  The  Loss  of  Eliza,  and  atten- 
tion to  that  one  Idea,  brought  on  a  fever — 
a  consequence,  I  have  for  some  time,  for- 
seen — but  had  not  a  sufficient  Stock  of  cold 
philosophy  to  remedy — to  satisfy  my  friends, 
caird  in  a  Physician — Alas!  alas!  the  only 
Physician,  &  who  carries  the  Balm  of  my 
Life  along  with  her, — is  Eliza. — why  did  I 
suffer  thee  to  go  from  me?  surely  thou  hast 
more  than  once  call'd  thyself  my  Eliza,  to 
the  same  account — twil  cost  us  both  dear ! 
but  it  could  not  be  otherwise — We  have 
submitted — we   shall   be   rewarded.     Twas  a 

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prophetic  spirit,  w^'^  dictated  the  acc*^  of 
Corpl  Trim's  uneasy  night  when  the  fair 
Beguin  ran  in  his  head, — for  every  night 
&  almost  every  Slumber  of  mine,  since  the 
day  we  parted,  is  a  repe[ti]tion  of  the  same 
description — dear  Eliza!  I  am  very  ill — very 
ill  for  thee  —  but  I  could  still  give  thee 
greater  proofs  of  my  affection,  parted  with 
12  Ounces  of  blood,  in  order  to  quiet  what 
was  left  in  me — tis  a  vain  experiment, — phy- 
sicians cannot  understand  this;  tis  enough  for 
me  that  Eliza  does — I  am  worn  down  my 
dear  Girl  to  a  Shadow,  &  but  that  I'm  cer- 
tain thou  wilt  not  read  this,  till  I'm  re- 
stored— thy  Yorick  would  not  let  the  Winds 

hear  his   Complaints 4  °.  clock — sorrowful 

meal!  for  twas  upon  our  old  dish. — we  shall 
live  to  eat  it,  my  dear  Bramine,  with  com- 
fort. 

8  at  night,  our  dear  friend  M^^  James, 
from  the  forbodings  of  a  good  heart,  think- 
ing I  was  ill;  sent  her  maid  to  enquire 
after  me — I  had  alarm'd  her  on  Saturday; 
&;  not  being  with  her  on  Sunday,  —  her 
friendship  supposed  the  Condition  I  was  in 
— She    suffers    most    tenderly    for    Us,    my 

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Eliza! — &  we  owe  her  more  than  all  the 
Sex — or  indeed  both  Sexes,  if  not,  all  the 
world  put  together — adieu!  my  sweet  Eliza! 
for  this  night — thy  Yorick  is  going  to  waste 
himself  on  a  restless  bed,  where  he  will 
turn  from  side  to  side  a  thousand  times — 
&  dream  by  Intervals  of  things  terrible  & 
impossible — That  Eliza  is  false  to  Yorick,  or 
Yorick  is  false  to  Eliza. 

Ap:  22*^  —  rose  with  utmost  difficulty — 
my  Physician  order' d  me  back  to  bed  as 
soon  as  I  had  got  a  dish  of  Tea — was  bled 
again;  my  arm  broke  loose  &  I  half  bled 
to  death  in  bed  before  I  felt  it.  O!  Eliza! 
how  did  thy  Bramine  mourn  the  want  of 
thee  to  tye  up  his  wounds,  &  comfort  his 
dejected  heart  —  still  something  bids  me 
hope — and  hope,  I  will — &  it  shall  be  the 
last  pleasurable  sensation  I  part  with. 

4  o'clock.  They  are  making  my  bed — 
how  shall  I  be  able  to  continue  my  Journal 
in  it?  —  If  there  remains  a  chasm  here — 
think  Eliza,  how  ill  thy  Yorick  must  have 
been.  —  this  moment  rec^  a  Card  from  our 
dear    friend,    beging    me    to    take    [care]    of 

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LETTERS 

a  Life  so  valuable  to  my  friends — but  most 
so — she  adds,  to  my  poor  dear  Eliza. — not 
a  word  from  the  Newnhams!  but  they  had 
no  such  exhortations  in  their  harts,  to  send 
thy  Bramine — adieu  to  em ! 

Ap:  23. — a  poor  night,  and  am  only  able 
to  quit  my  bed  at  4  this  afternoon — to  say 
a  word  to  my  dear — &  fulfill  my  engage- 
ment to  her,  of  letting  no  day  pass  over 
my  head  without  some  kind  communication 
with  thee — faint  resemblance,  my  dear  girl, 
of  how  our  days  are  to  pass,  when  one 
kingdom  holds  us — visited  in  bed  by  40 
friends,  in  the  Course  of  the  Day — is  not 
one  warm  affectionate  call,  of  that  friend, 
for  whom  I  sustain  Life,  worth  'em  all? — 
What  thinkest  thou  my  Eliza. 

Ap:  24. 

So  ill,  I  could  not  write  a  word  all  this 
morning — not  so  much,  as  Eliza!   farewel  to 

thee; — I'm  going am  a  little  better. 

-    so  shall  not  depart,  as  I  apprehended — 

being  this  morning  something  better — &  my 
Symptoms  become  milder,  by  a  tolerable  easy 
night. — and  now,  if  I  have  strength  &  Spirits 

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to  trail  my  pen  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
page,  I  have  as  whimsical  a  Story  to  tell  you, 
and  as  comically  dis-astrous  as  ever  befell  one 

of  our  family Shandy's  nose — his  name — 

his  Sash -Window — are  fools  to  it.  It  will 
serve  at  least  to  amuse  you.  The  Injury  I 
did  myself  in  catching  cold  upon  James's 
pouder,  fell,  you  must  know,  upon  the  worst 
part  it  could — the  most  painful,  &  most  dan- 
gerous of  any  in  the  human  Body — It  was  on 
this  Crisis,  I  call'd  in  an  able  Surgeon  &  with 
him  an  able  physician  (both  my  friends)  to 
inspect  my  disaster — tis  a  venerial  Case,  cried 

my  two  Scientifick  friends 'tis  impossible 

at  least  to  be  that,  replied  I — for  I  have  had 
no  commerce  whatever  with  the  Sex  —  not 
even  with  my  wife,  added  I,  these  15  years — 
You  are  *****  however  my  good  friend, 
said  the  Surgeon,  or  there  is  no  such  Case  in 
the  world — what  the  Devil!  said  I  without 
knowing  Woman — we  will  not  reason  ab^  it, 
said  the  Physician,  but  you  must  undergo  a 
course  of  Mercury, — I'll  lose  my  life  first, 
said  I — &  trust  to  Nature,  to  Time — or  at 
the  worst — to  Death, — so  I  put  an  end  with 
some  Indignation  to  the  Conference ;  and 
determined    to   bear  all   the  torments    I   un- 

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LETTERS 

derwent,  &  ten  times  more  rather  than,  sub- 
mit to  be  treated  as  a  Sinne?^  in  a  point 
where  I  had  acted  hke  a  Saint.  Now  as 
the  father  of  mischief  w^  have  it,  who  has 
no  pleasm-e  hke  that  of  dishonouring  the 
righteous  —  it  so  fell  out.  That  from  the 
moment  I  dismiss 'd  my  Doctors — my  pains 
began  to  rage  with  a  violence  not  to  be 
express'd,  or  supported — every  hour  became 
more  intollerable — I  was  got  to  bed — cried 
out  &;  raved  the  whole  night — &  was  got 
up  so  near  dead,  That  my  friends  insisted 
upon  my  sending  again  for  my  Physician  & 
Surgeon — I  told  them  upon  the  word  of  a 
man  of  Strict  honour,  They  were  both  mis- 
taken as  to  my  case  —  but  tho'  they  had 
reason' d  wrong — they  might  act  right — but 
that  sharp  as  my  sufferings  were,  I  felt 
them  not  so  sharp  as  the  Imputation, 
w'^.^  a  venerial  treatment  of  my  case,  laid 
me  under — They  answerd  that  these  taints 
of  the  blood  laid  dormant  20  years  —  but 
that  they  would  not  reason  with  me  in  a 
matter  wherein  I  was  so  delicate — but  would 
do  all  the  office  for  w^^  they  were  call'd  in 
— &  namely,  to  put  an  end  to  my  torment, 
w^.^  otherwise  would  put  an  end  to  me. — & 

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THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

so  have  I  been  compell'd  to  surrender  myself 
— &  thus  Ehza  is  your  Yorick,  y^  Bramine — 
your  friend  with  all  his  sensibilities,  suffering 
the  chastisement  of  the  grossest  Sensualist — 
Is   it  not  a   most  ridiculous    Embarassm*  as 
ever  Yorick 's   Spirit  could  be  involved  in — 
Tis  needless  to  tell   Eliza,  that  nothing  but 
the    purest    consciousness    of    Virtue,    could 
have    tempted    Eliza's    friend   to   have    told 
her    this    Story  —  Thou    art    too    good    my 
Eliza  to   love  aught  but  Virtue — &  too  dis- 
cerning   not    to    distinguish    the    open    char- 
acter w^.^  bears  it,  from  the  artful  &  double 
one   w'^.^   affects   it — This,    by   the   way,   w^ 
make  no  bad  anecdote  in  T.  Shandy's  Life — 
however   I   thought  at  least  it  would  amuse 
you,  in  a  country  where  less  Matters  serve. — 
This  has  taken   me  three  Sittings — it  ought 
to    be    a    good    picture — I'm    more    proud. 
That  it  is  a  true  one.     In  ten  Days  I  shall 
be  able  to  get  out — my  room  allways  full  of 
friendly  Visitors — &  my  rapper  eternally  going 
with   Cards  &  enquiries  after  me.      I  sh^  be 
glad  of  the  Testimonies — without  the  Tax. 

Every  thing  convinces  me,  Eliza,  We 
shall  live  to  meet  again  —  So  —  Take  care 
of  y^  health,  to  add  to  the  comfort  of  it. 

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LETTERS 

Ap:  25.  after  a  tolerable  night,  I  am 
able,  Eliza,  to  sit  up  and  hold  a  discourse 
with  the  sweet  Picture  thou  hast  left  behind 
thee  of  thyself,  &  tell  it  how  much  I  had 
dreaded  the  catastrophe,  of  never  seeing  its 
dear  Original  more  in  this  world — never  did 
that  look  of  sweet  resignation  appear  so  elo- 
quent as  now;  it  has  said  more  to  my  heart 
— &  cheard  it  up  more  effectually  above  lit- 
tle fears  &  may  he's — Than  all  the  Lectures 
of  philosophy  I  have  strength  to  apply  to  it, 
in  my  present  Debility  of  mind  and  body. — 
as  for  the  latter — my  men  of  Science,  will 
set  it  properly  agoing  again — tho'  upon  what 
principles — the  Wise  Men  of  Gotham  know 
as  much  as  they — If  they  act  right — what  is 
it  to  me,  how  wrong  they  thinks  for  finding 
my  machine  a  much  less  tormenting  one  to 
me  than  before,   I   become  reconciled  to  my 

Situation,  and   to   their    Ideas   of  it but 

don't  you  pity  me,  after  all,  my  dearest  and 
my  best  of  friends?  I  know  to  what  an 
amount  thou  wilt  shed  over  me,  this  tender 
Tax — &  tis  the  Consolation  springing  out  of 
that,  of  what  a  good  heart  it  is  which  pours 
this  friendly  balm  on  mine.  That  has  already, 
&  will  for  ever  heal  every  evil  of  my  Life. 

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THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

And  what  is  becoming,  of  my  Eliza,  all  this 
time! — where  is  she  sailing? — what  Sickness 
or  other  evils  have  befallen  her?  I  weep 
often  my  dear  Girl,  for  thee  my  Imagina- 
tion surrounds  them  with* — What  w^  be  the 
measure  of  my  Sorrow,  did  I  know  thou 
wast  distressed  ? — adieu — adieu — &  trust  my 
dear  friend — my  dear  Bramine,  that  there  still 
wants  nothing  to  kill  me  in  a  few  days,  but 
the  certainty.  That  thou  wast  suffering,  what 
I  am — &  yet  I  know  thou  art  ill — but  when 
thou  returnest  back  to  England,  all  shall  be 
set  right — so  heaven  waft  thee  to  us  upon 
the  wings  of  Mercy — that  is,  as  speedily  as 
the  winds  &  tides  can  do  thee  this  friendly 
office.  This  is  the  7*^  day  That  I  have 
tasted  nothing  better  than  Water  gruel — am 
going,  at  the  solicitation  of  Hall,  to  eat  of 
a  boild  fowl — so  he  dines  with  me  on  it — 
and  a  dish  of  Macaruls — 

7  o'clock — I  have  drank  to  thy  Name 
Eliza!  everlasting  peace  &  happiness  (for  my 
Toast)  in  the  first  glass  of  Wine  I  have  ad- 
ventured to  drink.     My  friend  has  left  me — 

*  Sterne  evidently  intended  to  write  "for  those  my  Imagina- 
tion surrounds  thee  with." 

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LETTERS 

&  I  am  alone, — like  thee  in  thy  solitary 
Cabbin  after  thy  return  from  a  tasteless 
meal  in  the  round  house  &  like  thee  I  fly 
to  my  Journal,  to  tell  thee,  I  never  prized 
thy  friendship  so  high,  or  loved  thee  more — 
or  wish'd  so  ardently  to  be  a  Sharer  of  all 
the  weights  w^.^  Providence  has  laid  upon 
thy  tender  frame — Than  this  moment — when 
upon  taking  up  my  pen,  my  poor  pulse 
quickend — my  pale  face  glowed — and  tears 
stood  ready  in  my  Eyes  to  fall  upon  the 
paper,  as  I  traced  the  word  Eliza.  O  Eliza! 
Eliza!  ever  best  &  blessed  of  all  thy  Sex! 
blessed  in  thyself  and  in  thy  Virtues — & 
blessed  and  endearing  to  all  who  know  thee 
— to  Me,  Eliza,  most  so;  because  I  know 
more  of  thee  than  any  other — This  is  the 
true  philtre  by  which  Thou  hast  charm 'd 
me  &  wilt  for  ever  charm  h  hold  me  thine, 
whilst  Virtue  &  faith  hold  this  world  to- 
gether; tis  the  simple  Magick,  by  which  I 
trust,  I  have  won  a  place  in  that  heart  of 
thine  on  w<=.^  I  depend  so  satisfied.  That 
Time  &  distance,  or  change  of  every  thing 
w^?*  might  allarm  the  little  hearts  of  little 
men,  create  no  unasy  suspence  in  mine — It 
scorns  to  doubt  — &  scorns  to  be  doubted — - 

m 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

tis   the   only   exception  —  where    Security   is 
not   the   parent  of   Danger. 

My  Illness  will  keep  me  three  weeks 
longer  in  town.  —  but  a  Journey  in  less 
time  would  be  hazardous,  unless  a  short 
one  across  the  Desert  w^.^  I  should  set  out 
upon  to  morrow,  could  I  carry  a  Medicine 
with  me  which  I  was  sure  would  prolong 
one  month  of  y'  Life — or  should  it  hap 
pen 

—but  why  make  Suppositions  ?  —  when 
Situations  happen — tis  time  enough  to  shew 
thee  That  thy  Bramin  is  the  truest  &  most 
friendly  of  mortal  Spirits,  &  capable  of  do- 
ing more  for  his  Eliza,  than  his  pen  will 
suffer  him  to  promise. 

Ap:  26.  Slept  not  till  three  this  morn- 
ing— was  in  too  delicious  Society  to  think 
of  it;  for  I  was  all  the  time  with  thee  be- 
sides me,  talking  over  the  projess  [.v/c]  of 
our  friendship,  &  turning  the  world  into  a 
thousand  shapes  to  enjoy  it.  got  up  much 
better  for  the  Conversation  —  found  myself 
improved  in  body  &  mind  &  recruited  be- 
yond any  thing  I  lookd  for;  my  Doctors, 
stroked   their   beards,    &    look'd    ten    per  C!^ 

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LETTERS 

wiser  upon  feeling  my  pulse,  &  enquiring 
after  my  Symptoms — am  still  to  run  thro'  a 
Course  of  Van  Sweeten's  corrosive  Mercury, 
or  rather  Van  Sweeten's  Course  of  Mercury 
is  to  run  thro'  me — I  shall  be  sublimated  to 
an  etherial  Substance  by  the  time  my  Eliza 
sees  me — she  must  be  sublimated  and  un- 
corporated  too,  to  be  able  to  see  me — but  I 
was  always  transparent  &  a  Being  easy  to 
be  seen  thro',  or  Eliza  had  never  loved  me 
nor  had  Eliza  been  of  any  other  Cast  her- 
self could  her  Bramine  have  held  Communion 
with  her.  hear  every  day  from  our  worthy 
sentimental  friend — who  rejoyces  to  think 
that  the  Name  of  Eliza  is  still  to  vibrate 
upon  Yorick's  ear — this,  my  dear  Girl,  many 
who  loved  me  dispair'd  off — poor  Molly  who 
is  all  attention  to  me — &  every  day  brings 
in  the  name  of  poor  M^^  Draper,  told  me 
last  night,  that  She  and  her  Mistress  had 
observed,  I  had  never  held  up  my  head, 
since  the  Day  you  last  dined  with  me — 
That  I  had  seldome  laughd  or  smiled — had 
gone  to  no  Diversions — but  twice  or  thrice 
at  the  most,  dined  out — That  they  thought 
I  was  broken  hearted,  for  she  never  enterd 
the    room    or    passd    by    the    door,    but    she 

TO 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

heard  me  sigh  heavily — That  I  neither  eat 
or  slept  or  took   pleasure    in    any   Thing  as 

before,   except   writing The    Observation 

will  draw  a  sigh  Eliza,  from  thy  feeling 
heart — &  yet,  so  thy  heart  w^  wish  to  have 
it — tis  fit  in  truth  We  suffer  equally  nor 
can  it  be  otherwise  —  when  the  causes  of 
anguish  in  two  hearts  are  so  proportion'd, 
as  in  ours. — ;  Surely  —  Surely  —  Thou  art 
mine  Eliza!  for  dear  have  have  I  bought 
thee  I 

Ap:  27.  Things  go  better  with  me, 
Eliza!  and  I  shall  be  reestablished  soon, 
except  in  bodily  weakness ;  not  yet  being 
able  to  rise  from  thy  arm  chair,  &;  walk 
to  the  other  corner  of  my  room,  &  back 
to  it  again  without  fatigue — I  shall  double 
my  Journey  to  morrow,  &  if  the  day  is 
warm  the  day  after  be  got  into  my  Car- 
riage &  be  transported  into  Hyde  park  for 
the  advantage  of  air  and  exercise — wast  thou 
but  besides  me,  I  could  go  to  Salt  hill,  I'm 
sure,  &  feel  the  journey  short  &  pleasant. — 
another  Time!  *  *  =^  *  *  *  *  —  the  present, 
alas!  is  not  ours.  I  pore  so  much  on  thy 
Picture — I  have  it  off  by  heart — dear  Girl — 

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LETTERS 

oh    tis    sweet !    tis   kind !    tis   reflecting !    tis 

affectionate!    tis thine    my    Bramine — I 

say  my  matins  &  Vespers  to  it  —  I  quiet 
my  Murmurs,  by  the  Spirit  which  speaks  in 
it — "all  will  end  well  my  Yorick. " — I  de- 
clare my  dear  Bramine  I  am  so  secured  & 
wrapt  up  in  this  Belief,  That  I  would  not 
part  with  the  Imagination,  of  how  happy  I 
am  to  be  with  thee,  for  all  the  offers  of 
present  Interest  or  Happiness  the  whole 
world  could  tempt  me  with;  in  the  lone- 
liest cottage  that  Love  &  Humility  ever 
dwelt  in,  with  thee  along  with  me,  I  could 
possess  more  refined  Content,  Than  in  the 
most  glittering  Court;  &  with  thy  Love  & 
fidelity,  taste  truer  joys,  my  Eliza,  &  make 
thee  also  partake  of  more,  than  all  the 
senseless  parade  of  this  silly  world  could 
compensate  to  either  of  us  —  with  this,  I 
bound  all  my  desires  &  worldly  views — 
what  are  they  worth  without  Eliza?  Jesus! 
grant  me  but  this,  I  will  deserve  it — I  will 
make  my  Bramine  as  Happy,  as  thy  good- 
ness wills  her — I  will  be  the  Instrument  of 
her  recompense  for  the  sorrows  &  disap- 
pointments thou  has  suffer' d  her  to  under- 
go;   &;   if  ever    1    am   false,  unkind    or  un- 

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gentle  to  her,   so  let  me  be  dealt  with  by 
thy  Justice. 

9  o'clock,  I  am  preparing  to  go  to  bed 
my  dear  Girl,  &  first  pray  for  thee,  &  then 
to  Idolize  thee  for  two  wakeful  hours  upon 
my  pillow — I  shall  after  that,  I  find  dream 
all  night  of  thee,  for  all  the  day  have  I 
done  nothing  but  think  of  thee — something 
tells,  that  thou  hast  this  day,  been  employed 
in  the  same  way.  good  night,  fair  Soul — & 
may  the  sweet  God  of  sleep  close  gently 
thy  eyelids — &  govern  &  direct  thy  Slum- 
bers— adieu — adieu,  adieu  I 

Ap:  28.  I  was  not  deceived  Eliza!  by 
my  presentiment  that  I  should  find  thee 
out  in  my  dreams;  for  I  have  been  with 
thee  almost  the  whole  night,  alternately 
soothing  Thee,  or  telling  thee  my  sorrows 
— I  have  rose  up  comforted  &  strengthend — 
&  found  myself  so  much  better,  that  I  or- 
derd  my  Carriage,  to  carry  me  to  our  mu- 
tual friend  —  Tears  ran  down  her  cheeks 
when  she  saw  how  pale  &  wan  I  was — 
never  gentle  creature  sympathized  more  ten- 
derly— I   beseech  you,  cried  the  good   Soul, 

73 


LETTER  S 

not  to  regard  either  difficulties  or  expences, 
but  fly  to  Eliza  directly — I  see  you  will  dye 
without  her — save  y^'self  for  her — how  shall 
I  look  her  in  the  face?  What  can  I  say  to 
her,  when  on  her  return  I  have  to  tell  her, 
That  her  Yorick  is  no  more! — Tell  her  my 
dear  fi-iend,  said  I,  That  I  will  meet  her  in 
a  better  world  —  &  that  I  have  left  this, 
because  I  could  not  live  without  her;  tell 
Eliza,  my  dear  friend,  added  I — That  I  died 
broken  hearted — and  that  you  were  a  Wit- 
ness to  it — as  I  said  this,  She  burst  into  the 
most  pathetick  flood  of  Tears  —  that  ever 
kindly  Nature  shed.  You  never  beheld  so 
affecting  a  Scene — 'twas  too  much  for  Na- 
ture !  oh !  she  is  good  —  I  love  her  as  my 
Sister! — &  could  Eliza  have  been  a  witness, 
hers  would  have  melted  down  to  Death  & 
scarse  have  been  brought  back,  an  Extacy 
so  celestial  &  savouring  of  another  world. — 
I  had  like  to  have  fainted,  &  to  that  Degree 
was  my  heart  &  soul  affected,  it  was  w*h 
difficulty  I  could  reach  the  street  door;  I 
have  got  home,  &  shall  lay  all  day  upon 
my  Sopha — &  to  morrow  morning  my  dear 
Girl  write  again  to  thee;  for  I  have  not 
strength  to  drag  my  pen — 

74 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

Ap:  29. 

I  am  so  ill  to  day,  my  dear,  I  can  only 
tell  you  so — I  wish  I  was  put  into  a  Ship 
for  Bombay — 1  wish  I  may  otherwise  hold 
out  till  the  hour  We  might  otherwise  have 
met — I  have  too  many  evils  upon  me  at 
once — &  yet  I  will  not  faint  under  them — 
Come! — Come  to  me  soon  my  Eliza  &  save 
me! 

Ap :  30.  Better  to  day  —  but  am  too 
much  visited  &  find  my  strength  wasted  by 
the  attention  I  must  give  to  all  concern 'd 
for  me — I  will  go  Eliza,  be  it  but  by  ten 
mile  Journeys,  home  to  my  thatchd  Cottage 
— &c  there  I  shall  have  no  respit — for  I  shall 
do  nothing  but  think  of  thee — and  burn  out 
this  weak  Taper  of  Life  by  the  flame  thou 
hast  superadded  to  it  —  fare  well  my  dear 
#  *  #  *  — ^Q  morrow  begins  a  new  month — & 
I  hope  to  give  thee  in  it,  a  more  sunshiny 
side  of  myself — Heaven!  how  is  it  with  my 
Eliza — 

May  1. 

got  out  into  the  park  to  day  —  Sheba 
there    on    Horseback;    pass'd    twice    by    her 

75 


LETTERS 

without  knowing  her  —  she  stop'd  the  3^ 
time  —  to  ask  me  how  I  did  —  I  w^  not 
have  askd  you,  Solomon!  said  She,  but  y' 
Looks  affected  me — for  you'r  half  dead  I 
fear — I  thank' d  Sheba  very  kindly,  but  w*^- 
out  any  emotion  but  what  sprung  from 
gratitude  —  Love  alas!  was  fled  with  thee 
Eliza !  —  I  did  not  think  Sheba  could  have 
changed  so  much  in  grace  &  beauty — Thou 
hadst  shrunk  poor  Sheba  away  into  Noth- 
ing, but  a  good  natured  girl,  without  powers 
or  charms — I  fear  your  wife  is  dead ;  quoth 
Sheba — no,  you  don't  feai'  it  Sheba  said  I 
— Upon  my  word  Solomon!  I  would  quar- 
rel with  You,  was  you  not  so  ill  —  If  you 
knew  the  cause  of  my  Illness,  Sheba,  replied 
I,  you  w^  quarrel  but  the  more  with  me — 
You  lie,  Solomon!  answerd  Sheba,  for  I 
know  the  Cause  already  —  &  am  so  little 
out  of  Charity  with  You  upon  it — That  I 
give  you  leave  to  come  h  drink  Tea  with 
me  before  you  leave  Town — you're  a  good 
honest  Creature  Sheba — no!  you  Rascal,  I 
am  not — but  I'm  in  Love,  as  much  as  you 
can  be  for  yT  Life — I'm  glad  of  it  Sheba! 
said  I — You  Lie,  said  Sheba,  &  so  canter'd 
away. — O  my  Eliza,  had  I  ever  truely  loved 

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THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

another  {w^]^  I  never  did)  Thou  hast  long 
ago,  cut  the  Root  of  all  Affection  in  me — 
&  planted  &  waterd  &  nourish 'd  it,  to  bear 
fruit  only  for  thyself — Continue  to  give  me 
proofs  I  have  had  and  shall  preserve  the 
same  rights  over  thee  my  Eliza!  and  if  I 
ever  murmur  at  the  sufferings  of  Life  after 
that.  Let  me  be  numberd  with  the  ungrate- 
ful.— I  look  now  forwards  with  Impatience 
for  the  day  thou  art  to  get  to  Madras — & 
from  thence  shall  I  want  to  hasten  thee  to 
Bombay — where  heaven  will  make  all  things 
Conspire  to  lay  the  Basis  of  thy  health  & 
future  happiness — be  true  my  dear  girl,  to 
thy  self — &  the  rights  of  Self  preservation 
which  Nature  has  given  thee — persevere — be 
firm — be  pliant — be  placid — be  courteous — 
but  still  be  true  to  thy  self — &  never  give 
up  y^  Life, — or  suffer  the  disquieting  alter- 
cations, or  small  outrages  you  may  undergo 
in  this  momentous  point,  to  weigh  a  Scru- 
ple in  the  Ballance — Firmness — &  fortitude 
&  perseverance  gain  almost  impossibilities — 
&  Skm  for  Skin,  saith  Job,  nay  all  that  a 
Man  has,  will  he  give  for  his  Life" — oh  my 
Eliza !  That  I  could  take  the  Wings  of  the 
Morning,   &  fly  to   aid  thee  in  this  virtuous 

77 


LETTERS 

Struggle,    went  to  Ranelagh  at  8  this  night, 
and  sat  still  till  ten — came  home  ill. 

May  2^ 

I  fear  I  have  relapsed — sent  afresh  for  my 
Doctor — who  has  confined  me  to  my  sopha 
— being  able  neither  to  walk,  stand  or  sit 
upright,  without  aggravating  my  Symptoms 
— I'm  still  to  be  treated  as  if  I  was  a  Sin- 
ner— &  in  truth  have  some  appearances  so 
strongly  implying  it,  That  was  I  not  con- 
scious I  had  had  no  Commerce  with  the 
Sex  these  15  Years,  I  would  decamp  to 
morrow  for  Montpellier  in  the  South  of 
France,  where  Maladies  of  this  sort  are 
better  treated  &  all  taints  more  radically 
driven  out  of  the  Blood  —  than  in  this 
Country ;  but  If  I  continue  long  ill  —  I 
am  still  determined  to  repair  there — not 
to  undergo  a  Cure  of  a  distemper  I  can- 
not have,  but  for  the  bettering  my  Con- 
stitution by  a  better  Climate. — I  write  this 
as  I  lie  upon  my  back — in  w^^  posture  I 
must  continue,  I  fear  some  days — If  I  am 
able  —  will  take  up  my  pen  again  before 
night — 

4?  clock. — an  hour  dedicated  to  Eliza!   for 

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THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

I  have  dined  alone — &  ever  since  the  Cloath 
has  been  laid,  have  done  nothing  but  call 
upon  thy  dear  Name — and  ask  why  tis  not 
permitted  thou  shouldst  sit  down,  &  share 
my  Macarel  &  fowl — there  would  be  enough, 
said  Molly  as  she  placed  it  upon  the  Table 
to  have  served  both  You  &  poor  M"!^  Dra- 
per— I  never  bring  in  the  knives  &;  forks, 
added  she,  but  I  think  of  her — There  was 
no  more  trouble  with  you  both,  than  w*!* 
one  of  You  —  I  never  heard  a  high  or  a 
hasty  word  from  either  of  You — You  were 
surely  made,  added  Molly,  for  one  another, 
you  are  both  so  kind  so  quiet  &  so  friendly 
— Molly  furnishd  me  with  Sause  to  my 
Meat — for  I  wept  my  plate  full,  Eliza!  & 
now  I  have  begun,  could  shed  tears  till 
Supper  again — &  then  go  to  bed  weeping 
for  thy  absence  till  morning.  Thou  hast 
bewitch 'd  me  with  powers,  my  dear  Girl, 
from  which  no  power  shall  unlose  me — 
and  if  fate  can  put  this  Journel  of  my 
Love  into  thy  hands,  before  we  meet,  I 
know  with  what  warmth  it  will  inflame  the 
kindest  of  hearts,  to  receive  me.  peace  be 
with  thee,  my  Eliza,  till  that  happy  mo- 
ment! 

79 


LETTERS 

9  at  night.  I  shall  never  get  possession 
of  myself,  Eliza!  at  this  rate — I  want  to 
Call  off  my  Thoughts  from  thee,  that  I 
may  now  &  then  apply  them  to  some 
concrns  w^.^  require  both  my  attention  & 
genius,  but  to  no  purpose — I  had  a  Letter 
to  write  to  Lord  Shelburn — &  had  got  my 
apparatus  in  order  to  begin — when  a  JMap 
of  India  coming  in  my  Way — I  begun  to 
study  the  length  k  dangers  of  my  Eliza's 
Voiage  to  it,  and  have  been  amusing  & 
frightening  myself  by  turns,  as  I  traced  the 
path- way  of  the  Earl  of  Chatham,  the  whole 
afternoon — good  god!  what  a  voiage  for  any 
one! — but  for  the  poor  relax'd  frame  of  my 
tender  Bramine  to  cross  the  Line  twice,  & 
be  subject  to  the  Intolerant  heats,  &  the 
hazards  w^^  must  be  the  consequence  of 
em  to  such  an  unsupported  Being !  O 
Eliza!  'tis  too  much — &  if  thou  conquerest 
these,  and  all  the  other  difficulties  of  so 
tremendous  an  alienation  from  thy  Country, 
thy  Children  &  thy  friends,  tis  the  hand  of 
Providence  w^^  watches  over  thee  for  most 
merciful  purposes — Let  this  persuasion,  my 
dear  Eliza !  stick  close  to  thee  in  all  thy 
tryals  —  as    it    shall    in    those    thy    faithful 

80 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

Bramin  is  put  to — till  the  mark'd  hour  of 
deliverance  comes.  I'm  going  to  sleep  upon 
this  religious  Elixir — may  the  Infusion  of  it 
distil  into  the  gentlest  of  hearts — for  that 
Eliza!  is  thine  —  sweet,  dear,  faithful  Girl, 
most  kindly  does  thy  Yorick  greet  thee 
with  the  wishes  of  a  good  night  &  of 
Millions    yet   to   come 

May  3^  Sunday.  What  can  be  the  mat- 
ter with  me!  Something  is  wrong,  Eliza! 
in  every  part  of  me — I  do  not  gain  strength; 
nor  have  I  the  feelings  of  health  returning 
back  to  me;  even  my  best  moments  seem 
merely  the  efforts  of  my  mind  to  get  well 
again,  because  I  cannot  reconcile  myself  to 
the  thoughts  of  never  seeing  thee  Eliza 
more.  —  for  something  is  out  of  tune  in 
every  Chord  of  me — still  with  thee  to  nurse 
&  sooth  me,  I  should  soon  do  well — The 
want  of  thee  is  half  my  distemper — but  not 
the  whole  of  it — I  must  see  M^^  James  to 
night,  tho'  I  know  not  how  to  get  there — 
but  I  shall  not  sleep,  if  I  don't  talk  of  you 
to  her — so  shall  finish  this  Days  Journal  on 
my  return — 

May  4*^!^    Directed   by  M^.^  James   how  to 

81 


LETTERS 

write  Over- Land  to  thee,  my  Eliza! — would 
gladly  tear  out  thus  much  of  my  Journal  to 
send  to  thee  —  but  the  Chances  are  too 
many  against  it's  getting  to  Bombay — or  of 

being    deliverd    into    yT    own    hands shall 

write  a  long  long  Letter — &  trust  it  to  fate 
&  thee,  was  not  able  to  say  three  words  at 
MT^  James,  thro'  utter  weakness  of  body  & 
mind ;  &  when  I  got  home — could  not  get 
up  stairs  w*!^  Molly's  aid — have  rose  a  little 
better,  my  dear  girl — &  will  live  for  thee — 
do  the  same  for  thy  Bramin,  I  beseech  thee, 
a  Line  from  thee  now,  in  this  state  of  my 
Dejection, — would  be  worth  a  kingdome  to 
me! — 

May  4.  Writing  by  way  of  Vienna  & 
Bussorah  My  Eliza. — this  &  Company  took 
up  the  day. 

5th  writing  to  Eliza. — &  trying  V  Extraite 
de  Saturne  upon  myself. — (a  french  Nos- 
trum) 

Q"^^  Dined  out  for  the  1^*  time — came 
home  to  enjoy  a  more  harmonious  evening 
w*^    my  Eliza,  than  I  could  expect  at  Soho 

82 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

Concrt* — every  Thing  my  dear  Girl,  has  lost 
its  former  relish  to  me — &c  for  thee  eternally 
does  it  quicken!  writing  to  thee  over  Land 
all  day. 

7.  continue  poorly,  my  dear!  —  but  my 
blood  warms  every  mom*^  I  think  of  our 
future  Scenes  —  so  must  grow  strong  upon 
the  Idea — what  shall  I  do  upon  the  Real- 
ity?—O  God!— 

8^!*  employ 'd  in  writing  to  my  Dear  all 
day — &  in  projecting  happiness  for  her — tho 
in  misery  myself.  O !  I  have  undergone 
Eliza! — but  the  worst  is  over — (I  hope) — so 
adieu  to  those  Evils,  &  let  me  has't  the 
happiness  to  come. 

9*** — 10*^ — &  11^ — so  unaccountably  disor- 
der'd — I  cannot  say  more — but  that  I  w. 
suffer  ten  times  more  &  with  wishs  for  my 
Eliza — adieu  bless'd  Woman! — 

12^^  O  Eliza!  That  my  weary  head  was 
now  laid  upon  thy  Lap — (tis   all   that's   left 

*  One  of  the  famous  concerts  at  Carlisle  House  under  the 
management  of  Mrs.  Theresa  Cornelys. 

83 


LETTERS 

for  it) — or  that  I  had  thine,  reclining  upon 
my  bosome,  and  there  resting  all  its  dis- 
quietudes ;  —  my  Bramine  —  the  world  or 
Yorick  must  perish,  before  that  foundation 
shall  fail  thee! — I  continue  poorly — but  I 
turn  my  Eyes  Eastward  the  oftener,  &  with 

more    earnestness    for    it Great    God    of 

Mercy  I  shorten  the  Space  betwixt  us, — 
Shorten  the  space  of  our  miseries! 

13*^  Could  not  get  the  Gen!  post  office 
to  take  charge  of  my  Letters  to  You — so 
gave  thirty  shillings  to  a  Merchant  to  fur- 
ther them  to  Aleppo  &  fi-om  thence  to 
Bassorah — so  you  will  receive  'em  (I  hope 
in  god)  say  by  Christmas — Surely  'tis  not 
impossible,  but  I  may  be  made  as  happy 
as  my  Eliza,  by  some  transcript  from  her, 
by  that  time — If  not  I  shall  hope — &  hope 
every  week,  and  every  hour  of  it,  for  Tidings 
of  Comfort  —  we  taste  not  of  it  710110,  my 
dear  Bramine — but  we  will  make  full  meals 
upon  it  hereafter.  —  Cards  from  7  or  8  of 
our  Grandies  to  dine  with  them  before  I 
leave  Town — shall  go  like  a  Lamb  to  the 
Slaughter  —  ' '  Man  delights  not  me  —  nor 
Woman^^ 

84 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

14.  a  little  better  to  day — &  would  look 
pert,  if  my  heart  would  but  let  me — dined 
w*?^  L^  &  Lady  Bellasis.  —  so  beset  w*^ 
Company — not  a  moment  to  write. 

15.  Undone  with  too  much  Society  yes- 
terday,— You  scarse  can  Conceive  my  dear 
Eliza  what  a  poor  Soul  I  am — how  I  shall 
be  got  down  to  Cox  only  heaven  knows — 
for  I  am  as  weak  as  a  Child  —  You  would 
not  like  me  the  worse  for  it,  Eliza,  if  you 
was  here — My  friends  like  me,  the  more, — 
&  Swear  I  shew  more  true  fortitude  & 
eveness  of  temper  in  my  Suffering  than 
Seneca,  or  Socrates — I  am,  my  Bramin,*  re- 
signed. 

16.  Taken  up  all  day  with  worldly  mat- 
ters, just  as  my  Eliza  was  the  week  be- 
fore her  departure. — breakfasted  with  Lady 
Spencer — caught  her  with  the  character  of 
y^  Portrait — caught  her  passions  still  more 
with  that  of  y'^self — &  my  Attachment  to 
the  most  amiable  of  Beings — drove  at  night 
to  Ranelagh — staid  an  hour — returnd  to  my 
Lodgings,  dissatisfied. 

*  Just  as  Sterne  sometimes  refers  to  himself  as  the  Bramine, 
so  he  here  carelessly  addresses  Eliza  as  the  Bramin. 

85 


LETTERS 

17.  At  Court — every  thing  in  this  world 
seems  in  Masquerade,  but  thee  dear  Woman 
— and  therefore  I  am  sick  of  all  the  world 
but  thee  —  one  Evening  so  spent,  as  the 
Saturday's  w^!^  preeceeded  our  Separation — 
would  sicken  all  the  Conversation  of  the 
world — /  relish  no  Converse  since  —  when 
will  the  like  return?  —  tis  hidden  from  us 
both,  for  the  wisest  ends  —  and  the  hour 
will  come  my  Eliza!  when  We  shall  be 
convinced,  that  every  event  has  been  or- 
der'd  for  the  best  for  Us — our  fruit  is  not 
ripend — the  accidents  of  time  &  Seasons  will 
ripen  every  Thing  together  for  Us — a  little 
better  to  day  —  or  could  not  have  wrote 
this,  dear  Bramine  rest  thy  Sweet  Soul  in 
peace ! 

18.  Laid  sleepless  all  night,  with  think- 
ing of  the  many  dangers  &  sufferings,  my 
dear  Girl !  that  thou  art  exposed  to — from 
the  Voiage  &  thy  sad  state  of  health — but 
I  find  I  must  think  no  more  upon  them — 
I  have  rose  wan  and  trembling  with  the 
Havock  they  have  made  upon  my  nerves — 
tis  death  to  me  to  apprehend  for  you — I 
must    flatter    my    Imagination,    That    every 

86 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

Thing  goes  well  with  You — Surely  no  evil 
can  have  befallen  you — for  if  it  had — I  had 
felt  some  monitory  sympathetic  Shock  with- 
in me,  w^.^  would  have  spoke  like  Revela 
tion.  —  So  farewell  to  all  tormenting  May 
he's  in  regard  to  my  Eliza — She  is  well — 
she  thinks  of  her  Yorick  w*!^  as  much  Affec- 
tion and  true  esteem  as  ever — and  values 
him  as  much  above  the  World,  as  he  values 
his  Bramine. 

19. 

Packing  up,  or  rather  Molly  for  me,  the 
whole  day — tormenting!  had  not  Molly  all 
the  time  talk'd  of  poor  M':^  Draper — &  re- 
counted every  Visit  She  had  made  me,  and 
every  repast  she  had  shared  with  me — how 
good  a  Lady! — How  sweet  a  temper! — how 
beautiful! — how  genteel! — how  gentle  a  Car- 
riage— &  how  soft  &  engaging  a  look! — the 
poor  girl  is  bewitch 'd  with  us  both — infi- 
nitely interested  in  our  Story,  tho'  She 
knows  nothing  of  it  but  from  her  penetra- 
tion and  Conjectures. — She  says  however,  tis 
Impossible  not  to  be  in  Love  with  her — In 
heart  felt  truth,  Eliza!  I'm  of  Molly's 
opinion. 

87 


LETTERS 

20.  Taking   Leave  of  all  the   Town,   be- 
fore my  departure  to  morrow. 

21.  detaind  by  Lord  k  Lady  Spencer 
who  had  made  a  party  to  dine  &  sup  on 
my  Acc*^  Impatient  to  set  out  for  my  Soli- 
tude— there  the  Mind,  Eliza!  gains  strength, 
&  learns  to  lean  upon  herself — and  seeks 
refuge  in  its  own  Constancy  &  Virtue — in 
the  world  it  seeks  or  accepts  of  a  few 
treacherous  supports  —  the  feign'd  Compas- 
sion of  one — the  flattery  of  a  second — the 
Civilities  of  a  third  —  the  friendship  of  a 
fourth — they  all  deceive — &  bring  the  Mind 
back  to  where  mine  is  retreating  —  that  is 
Eliza!  to  itself — to  thee  who  art  my  second 
self,  to  retirement,  reflection  &  Books  — 
when  The  Stream  of  Things,  dear  Bramine, 
Brings  Us  both  together  to  this  Haven — 
will  not  your  heart  take  up  its  rest  for 
ever?  &  will  not  yT  head  Leave  the  world 
to  those  who  can  make  a  better  thing  of 
it  —  if  there  are  any  who  know  how. — 
Heaven  take  thee  Eliza!  under  it's  Wing — 
adieu !   adieu — 

22^ 

Left   Bond    Street  &    London    w*    it,  this 

88 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

Morning— What  a  Creature  1  am!  my  heart 
has  ached  this  week  to  get  away — &  still 
was  ready  to  bleed  in  quiting  a  Place 
where  my  Connection  with  my  dear  dear 
Eliza  began — Adieu  to  it!  till  I  am  sum- 
mon'd  up  to  the  Downs  by  a  Message,  to 
fly  to  her — for  I  think  I  shall  not  be  able 
to  support  Town  without  you — &  w^  chuse 
rather  to  sit  solitary  here  till  the  end  of  the 
next  Summer — to  be  made  happy  altogether 
— then  seek  for  happiness — or  even  suppose 
I  can  have  it,  but  in  Eliza's  Society. 

23^*  bear  my  Journey  badly — ill — &  dis- 
pirited all  the  Way— staid  two  days  on  the 
road  at  the  A-Bishops  of  Yorks — shewd  his 
Grace  &  his  Lady  and  Sister  yr  portrait — 
w*!^  a  short  but  interesting  Story  of  my 
friendship  for  the  Original — kindly  nursed  & 
honourd  both — arrived  at  my  Thatchd  Cot- 
tage the  28th  of  May. 

29*^h  &  30*!^ — confined  to  my  bed — so  ema- 
ciated, and  unlike  what  I  was,  I  could  scarse 
be  angry  with  thee  Eliza,  if  thou  Coulds  not 
remember    me,   did    heaven    send    me    across 

*  Only  the  first  clause  can  belong  to  the  twenty-third. 

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LETTERS 

thy  way  —  Alas !  poor  Yorick !  —  "  remember 
thee!  Pale  Ghost  —  remember  thee  —  whilst 
Memory  holds  a  seat  in  this  distracted 
World  —  Remember  thee  —  Yes  from  the 
Table  of  her  Memory,  shall  just  Eliza  wipe 
away  all  trivial  men — &  leave  a  throne  for 
Yorick — adieu  dear  constant  Girl — adieu — 
adieu — &  Remember  my  Truth  and  eternal 
fidelity — Remember  how  I  Love — remember 
what  I  suffer.  —  Thou  art  mine  Eliza  by 
Purchace  —  had  I  not  earn'd  thee  with  a 
bitter  price. 

31. 

Going  this  day  upon  a  long  course  of 
Corrosive  Mercury — w^.^  in  itself,  is  deadly 
poyson,  but  given  in  a  certain  preparation, 
not  very  dangerous — I  was  forced  to  give  it 
up  in  Town,  from  the  terrible  Cholicks  both 
in  Stomach  &  Bowels  —  but  the  Faculty 
thrust  it  down  my  Throat  again  —  These 
Gentry  have  got  it  into  their  Noddies, 
That  mine  is  an  Ecclesiastick  Rheum  as 
the  french  call  it  —  god  help  em!  I  sub- 
mit as  my  Uncle  Toby  did,  in  drinking 
Water,  upon  the  wound  he  rec^  in  his 
Groin — Merely  for   quietness   sake. 

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June  1. 

The  Faculty,  my  dear  Eliza!  have  mis- 
taken my  Case  —  why  not  y^^?  I  wish  I 
could  fly  to  you  &  attend  you  but  one 
month  as  a  physician  —  You'l  Languish  & 
dye  where  you  are, — (if  not  by  the  climate) 
— most  certainly  by  their  Ignorance  of  y^ 
Case,  &  the  unskilful  Treatment  you  must 
be  a  martyr  to  in  such  a  place  as  Bom- 
bay. —  I'm  Languishing  here  myself  with 
every  Aid  &  help — &  tho'  I  shall  conquer 
it — yet  have  had  a  cruel  Struggle — w^  my 
dear  friend,  I  could  ease  y*"?,  either  by  my 
Advice  —  my  attention  —  my  Labour  —  my 
purse — They  are  all  at  yr  Service,  such  as 
they  are — and  that  you  know  Eliza — or  my 
friendship  for  you  is  not  worth  a  rush. 

June  2^ 

This  morning  surpriz'd  with  a  Letter 
from  my  Lydia — that  She  and  her  Mama, 
are  coming  to  pay  me  a  Visit  —  but  on 
Condition  I  promise  not  to  detain  them 
in  England  beyond  next  April  —  when, 
they  purpose,  by  my  Consent,  to  retire 
into  France,  &  establish  themselves  for 
Life  —  To    all    which    I    have    freely    given 

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LETTERS 

my  parole  of  Honour  —  &  so  shall  have 
them  with  me  for  the  Summer  —  from 
Octr  to  April  —  they  take  Lodgings  in 
York  —  when  they  Leave  me  for  good  & 
all    I    suppose. 

^^ Every  thing  for  the  best!     Ehza. 

This  unexpected  visit,  is  neither  a  visit  of 
friendship  or  form — but  tis  a  visit,  such  as 
1  know  you  will  never  make  me, — of  pure 
Interest — to  pillage  what  they  can  from  me. 
In  the  first  place  to  sell  a  small  estate  I 
have  of  sixty  p'^.^  a  year  —  &  lay  out  the 
purchase  money  in  joint  annuitys  for  them 
in  the  french  Funds;  by  this  they  will  ob- 
tain 200  p*^.s  a  year,  to  be  continued  to  the 
longer  Liver — and  as  it  rids  me  of  all  future 
care — &  moreover  transfers  their  Income  to 
the  Kingdom  where  they  purpose  to  live — 
I'm  truely  acquiescent  —  tho'  I  lose  the 
Contingency  of  surviving  them — but  'tis  no 
matter — I  shall  have  enough — &  a  hundred 
or  two  hundred  Pounds  for  Eliza  when 
ever  She  will    honour   me  with  putting  her 

hand   into   my  Purse In  the  main  time, 

I  am  not  sorry  for  this  Visit,  as  every 
Thing  will  be  finally  settled  between  us 
by   it — only   as    their   Annuity   will    be    too 

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strait — I  shall  engage  to  remit  them  a  100 
Guineas  a  year  more,  during  my  Wife's 
Life — &  then,  I  will  think,  Eliza,  of  living 
for  myself  &  the  Being  I  love  as  much. 
But  I  shall  be  pillaged  in  a  hundred  small 
Item's  by  them — w^h  I  have  a  Spirit  above 
saying,  no — to;  as  Provisions  of  all  sorts  of 
Linnens — for  house  use — Body  use — printed 
Linnens  for  Gowns — Mazareens  of  Teas — 
Plate,  (all  I  have  (but  6  Silver  Spoons) — 
In  short  I  shall  be  pluck' d  bare — all  but 
of  y  Portrait  &  SnufF  Box  &;  yT  other 
dear  Presents  —  &  the  neat  furniture  of 
my  thatch'd  Palace  —  &  upon  these  I  set 
up  Stock  again,  Eliza.  What  say  you, 
Eliza!  shall  we  join  our  little  capitals  to- 
gether?— will  Mr  Draper  give  us  leave? — 
he  may  safely — if  yT  Virtue  &  Honour  are 
only  concernd, — 'twould  be  safe  in  Yoricks 
hands,  as  in  a  Brothers — I  w^  not  wish  M*" 
Draper  to  allow  you  above  half  I  allow  M" 
Sterne — Our  Capital  would  be  too  great,  & 
tempt  us  from  the  Society  of  poor  Cordelia 
— who  begins  to  wish  for  you. 

By  this  time,  I  trust  you  have  doubled 
the  Cape  of  good  hope — &  sat  down  to  y' 
writing   Drawer;    &   look'd  in  Yoricks  face, 

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LETTERS 

as  you  took  out  yT  Journal;  to  tell  him 
so  —  I  hope  he  seems  to  smile  as  kindly 
upon  you  Eliza,  as  ever  —  yT  Attachment 
&  Love  for  me,  will  make  him  do  so  to 
eternity  —  if  ever  he  sh^  change  his  Air, 
Eliza !  —  I  charge  you  catechize  your  own 
Heart  —  oh!   twil  never  happen! 

June  3^ — Cannot  write  my  Travels,  or 
give  one  half  hours  close  attention  to 
them,  upon  Thy  Ace*  my  dearest  friend — 
Yet  write  I  must,  &  what  to  do  with  You, 
whilst  I  write  —  I  declare  I  know  not  —  I 
want  to  have  you  ever  before  my  Imagina- 
tion— &  cannot  keep  you  out  of  my  heart 
or  head — In  short  thou  enterst  my  Library 
Eliza!  (as  thou  one  day  shalt)  without  tap- 
ping— or  sending  for — by  thy  own  Right  of 
ever  being  close  to  thy  Bramine  —  now  I 
must  shut  you  out  sometimes — or  meet  you 
Eliza!  with  an  empty  purse  upon  the  Beach 
— pity  my  entanglements  from  other  pas- 
sions—  my  Wife  with  me  every  moment 
of  the  Summer  —  think  w*  restraint  upon 
a  Fancy  that  should  Sport  &  be  in  all 
points  at  its  ease  —  O  had  I,  my  dear 
Bramine   this    Summer,  to  soften — k  modu- 

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late  my  feelings  —  to  enrich  my  fancy,  & 
fill  my  heart  brim  full  with  bounty  —  my 
Book  w^  be  worth  the  reading — 

It  will  be  by  stealth  if  I  am  able  to  go 
on  with  my  Journal  at  all  —  It  will  have 
many  Interruptions — &  Heyho's!  most  sen- 
timentally utter' d — Thou  must  take  it  as  it 
pleases  God. — as  thou  must  take  the  Writer 
— eternal  Blessings  be  about  You  Eliza!  I 
am  a  little  better,  &  now  find  I  shall  be 
set  right  in  all  points — my  only  anxiety  is 
about  You  —  I  want  to  prescribe  for  you 
My  Eliza  —  for  I  think  I  understand  y*" 
Case  better  than  all  the  Faculty,  adieu — 
adieu. 

June  4. 

Hussy !  —  I  have  employ 'd  a  full  hour 
upon  yr  sweet  sentimental  Picture — and  a 
couple  of  hours  upon  yourself — &  with  as 
much  kind  friendship,  as  the  hour  You  left 
me — I  deny  it — Time  lessens  no  Affections 
w^.^  honour  h  merit  have  planted — I  w*?  give 
more,  and  hazard  more  now  for  your  happi- 
ness than  in  any  one  period,  since  I  first 
learn'd  to  esteem  you — is  it  so  with  thee 
my   friend  ?     has    absence   weakend    my    In- 

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LETTERS 

terest — has  time  worn  out  any  Impression — 
or  is  Yorieks  name  less  Musical  in  Eliza's 
ears? — my  heart  smites  me,  for  asking  the 
question  —  tis  Treason  ag^^  thee  Eliza  and 
Truth — Ye  are  dear  Sisters,  and  yT  Brother 
Bramin  Can  never  live  to  see  a  Separation 
amongst  Us.  —  What  a  similitude  in  our 
Trials  whilst  asunder!  —  Providence  has  or- 
der'd  every  Step  better,  than  we  could 
have  order'd  them, — for  the  particular  good 
we  wish  each  other  —  This  you  will  com- 
ment upon  &  find  the  Sense  of  without  my 
explanation. 

I  wish  this  Summer  &  Winter  w'^^  all  I 
am  to  go  through  with  in  them,  in  busi- 
ness &i.  Labour  &  Sorrow,  well  over — I  have 
much  to  compose — &  much  to  discompose 
me — have  my  Wife's  projects — &  my  own 
Views  arising  out  of  them,  to  harmonize 
and  turn  to  account — I  have  Millions  of 
heart  aches  to  suffer  &  reason  with — &  in 
all  this  Storm  of  Passions,  I  have  but  one 
small  Anchor,  Eliza !  to  keep  this  weak 
Vessel  of  mine  from  perishing — I  trust  all 
I  have  to  it — as  I  trust  Heaven,  which 
cannot  leave  me,  without  a  fault,  to  perish. 
— may  the  same  just  Heaven   my  Eliza,  be 

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that  eternal  Canopy  w*=^  shall  shelter  thy 
head  from  evil  till  we  meet — Adieu — adieu 
— adieu. 

June  5. 

I  sit  down  to  write  this  day,  in  good 
earnest — so  read  Eliza!  quietly  besides  me — 
I'll  not  give  you  a  Look — except  one  of 
kindness — dear  Girl !  if  thou  lookest  so  be- 
witching once  more — I'll  turn  thee  out  of 
my  Study  —  You  may  bid  me  defiance, 
Eliza. — You  cannot  conceive  how  much  & 
how  universally  I'm  pitied,  upon  the  Score 
of  this  unexpected  Visit  from  france — my 
friends  think  it  will  kill  me — If  I  find  my- 
self in  danger  I'll  fly  to  you  to  Bombay — 
will  MT  Draper  receive  me? — he  ought — but 
he  will  never  know  what  reasons  make  it 
his  Interest  and  Duty — We  must  leave  all 
all  to  that  Being  who  is  infinitely  removed 

above   all    Straitness   of    heart &   is   a 

friend  to  the  friendly,  as  well  as  to  the 
friendless. 

June  6. — am  quite  alone  in  the  depth  of 
that  sweet  Recesse,  I  have  so  often  de- 
scribed   to   You  —  tis    sweet   in    itself — but 

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LETTERS 

You  never  come  across  me — but  the  per- 
spective brightens  up — &;  every  Tree  &  Hill 
&  Vale  &  Ruin  ab*  me — smiles  as  if  you 
was  amidst  'em — delusive  moments! — how 
pensive  a  price  do  I  pay  for  you  —  fancy 
sustains  the  Vision  whilst  She  has  strength — 
but  Eliza !  Eliza  is  not  with  me !  —  I  sit 
down  upon  the  first  Hillock  Solitary  as  a 
sequester' d  Bramin  —  I  wake  from  my  de- 
lusion to  a  thousand  Disquietudes,  which 
many  talk  of — my  Eliza! — but  few  feel — 
then  weary  my  Spirit  with  thinking,  plot- 
ting, &£  projecting — &  when  I've  brought 
my  System  to  my  mind — am  only  Doubly 
miserable,  That  I  cannot  execute  it — 

Thus — Thus  my  dear  Bramine  are  we  lost 
at  present  in  this  tempest — Some  Haven  of 
rest  will  open  to  us  assuredly — God  made 
us  not  for  Misery!  and  Ruin — he  has  orderd 
all  our  Steps — &  influenced  our  Attachments 
for  what  is  worthy  of  them  —  It  must  end 
well — Eliza! — 

June  7 

I  have  this  week  finish'd  a  sweet  little 
apartment  which  all  the  time  it  was  doing, 
I   flatter' d   the   most   delicious   of    Ideas,  in 

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thinking  I  was  making  it  for  You — Tis  a 
neat  little  simple  elegant  room,  overlook 'd 
only  by  the  Sun — just  big  enough  to  hold 
a  Sopha;  for  us  —  a  Table,  four  Chairs,  a 
Bureau,  &  a  Book  case  —  They  are  to  be 
all  y",  Room  &  all  —  &  there  Eliza  I  shall 
I  enter  ten  times  a  day  to  give  thee  Tes- 
timonies of  my  Devotion — Was't  thou  this 
moment  sat  down,  it  w^  be  the  sweetest  of 
earthly  Tabernacles — I  shall  enrich  it,  from 
time  to  time,  for  thee — till  Fate  lets  me 
lead  thee,  by  the  hand  Into  it — &  then  it 
can  want  no  Ornament. — tis  a  little  oblong 
room — with  a  large  Sash  at  the  end — a  little 
elegant  fireplace — w*^!^  as  much  room  to  dine 
around  it,  as  in  Bond  street — But  in  sweet- 
ness &  Simplicity;  &  silence  beyond  any 
thing — oh  my  Eliza  1 — I  shall  see  thee  surely 
Goddesse  of  this  Temple,  —  and  the  most 
sovereign  one,  of  all  I  have — &  of  all  the 
powers  heaven  has  trusted  me  with — They 
were  lent  me,  Eliza!  only  for  thee — &  for 
thee  my  dear  Girl  shall  be  kept  &  em- 
ployed.— You  know  what  rights  You  have 
over  me. — wish  to  heaven  I  could  Convey 
the  Grant  more  amply  than  I  have  done — 
but  tis  the  same — tis  register' d  where  it  will 

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longest  last — &  that  is  in  the  feeling  &  most 
sincere  of  human  hearts — You  know  I  mean 
this  reciprocally — &  whenever  I  mention  the 
Word  Fidelity  &  Truth, — in  Speaking  of  y"" 
Reliance  on  mine — I  always  Imply  the  same 
Reliance  upon  the  same  Virtues  in  my  Eliza. 
— I  love  thee  Eliza!  &  will  love  thee  for 
ever — Adieu.  — 

June  8. 

Begin  to  recover,  and  sensibly  to  gain 
strength  every  day — and  have  such  an  ap- 
petite as  I  have  not  had  for  some  Years — 
I  prophecy  I  shall  be  the  better,  for  the 
very  Accident  which  has  occasiond  my  Ill- 
ness— &  that  the  Medicines  &  Regimen  I 
have  submitted  to  will  make  a  thorough 
Regeneration  of  me,  and  y^  I  shall  have 
more  health  and  strength,  than  I  have  en- 
joy'd  these  ten  Years  —  Send  me  such  an 
Acc!^  of  thyself  Eliza,  by  the  first  sweet 
Gale  —  but  tis  impossible  You  sh^  from 
Bombay — twil  be  as  fatal  to  You,  as  it  has 
been  to  thousands  of  y'"  Sex  —  England  & 
Retirement    in    it,     can    only    save    you  — 

ome  !  —  Come  away — 


C 


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June  9*!^  I  keep  a  post  chaise  &  a  couple 
of  fine  horses,  &  take  the  Air  every  day  in 
it — I  go  out — &  return  to  my  Cottage  Eliza! 
alone — 'tis  melancholly,  what  sh*?  be  matter 
of  enjoyment;  &;  the  more  so  for  that  reason 
— I  have  a  thousand  things  to  remark  &  say 
as  I  roll  along — but  I  want  you  to  say  them 
to — I  could  some  times  be  wise — &  often 
Witty — but  I  feel  it  a  reproach  to  be  the 
latter  whilst  Eliza  is  so  far  from  hearing 
me — &  what  is  Wisdome  to  a  foolish  weak 
heart  like  mine !  Tis  like  the  Song  of 
Melody  to  a  broken  Spirit  —  You  must 
teach  me  fortitude  my  dear  Bramine — for 
with  all  the  tender  qualities  w9^  make  you 
the  most  precious  of  Women  —  &  most 
wanting  of  all  other  Women  of  a  kind  of 
protector — yet  you  have  a  passive  kind  of 
sweet  Courage  w^.'^  bears  you  up  —  more 
than  any  one  Virtue  I  can  summon  up  in 
my  own  Case — We  were  made  with  Tem- 
pers for  each  other  Eliza !  and  you  are 
blessd  with  such  a  certain  turn  of  Mind  & 
reflection — that  if  Self  love  does  not  blind 
me — I  resemble  no  Being  in  the  world  so 
nearly  as  I  do  you — do  you  wonder  then  I 
have  such  fi-iendship  for  you? — for  my  own 

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RiVEHSlOt 


LETTERS 

part,  1  sW  not  be  astonished,  Eliza,  if  you 
was  to  declare  ' '  You  was  up  to  the  ears  in 
Love  with   Me." 

June  lot!* 

You  are  stretching  over  now  in  the  Trade 
Winds  from  the  Cape  to  Madrass — (I  hope) 
— but  I  know  it  not,  some  friendly  Ship 
you  possibly  have  met  w*^!^,  &  I  never  read 
an  Acc*^  of  an  India  Man  arrived — but  I 
expect  that  it  is  the  Messenger  of  the  news 
my  heart  is  upon  the  rack  for. — I  calculate. 
That  you  will  arrive  at  Bombay  by  the  be- 
ginning of  October  —  by  February,  I  shall 
surely  hear  from  you  thence  —  but  from 
Madrass  sooner.  —  I  expect  you  Eliza  in 
person,  by  September — &  shall  scarse  go  to 
London  till  March — for  what  have  I  to  do 
there,  when  (except  printing  my  Books)  I 
have  no  Interest  or  Passion  to  gratify — I 
shall  return  in  June  to  Coxwould — &  there 
wait  for  the  glad  Tidings  of  yr  arrival  in 
the  Downs — won't  You  write  to  me  Eliza? 
by  the  first  Boat?  would  not  you  wish  to 
be  greeted  by  yT  Yorick  upon  the  Beech? — 
or  be  met  by  him  to  hand  you  out  of  yy 
postchaise,  to   pay  him   for   the  Anguish  he 

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underwent,  in  handing  you  into  it? — I  know 
your  answers — my  Spirit  is  with  You.  fare- 
wel  dear  friend — 

June  11. 

I  am  every  day  negociating  to  sell  my 
little  Estate  besides  me — to  send  the  money 
into  France  to  purchace  peace  to  myself — & 
a  certainty  of  never  having  it  interrupted 
by  M':^  Sterne — who  when  She  is  sensible  I 
have  given  her  all  I  can  part  with — will  be 
at  rest  herself — Indeed  her  plan  to  purchace 
annuities  in  france — is  a  pledge  of  Security 
to  me  —  That  She  will  live  her  days  out 
there — otherwise  She  could  have  no  end  in 
transporting  this  two  thousand  pounds  out 
of  England  —  nor  w^  I  consent  but  upon 
that  plan — but  I  may  be  at  rest! — if  my 
imagination  will  but  let  me — Hall  says  tis 
no  matter  where  she  lives;  If  we  are  but 
separate,  tis  as  good  as  if  the  Ocean  rolled 
between  us  —  &  so  I  should  argue  to  an- 
other Man — but,  tis  an  Idea  w^.^  won't  do  so 
well  for  me — &  tho'  nonsensical  enough — 
Yet  I  shall  be  most  at  rest  when  there  is 
that  Bar  between  Us — was  I  never  so  sure, 
I  sh"?  never  be  interrupted   by  her,  in  Eng- 

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land — but  I  may  be  at  rest  T  say,  on  that 
head — for  they  have  left  all  their  Cloaths  & 
plate  and  Linnen  behind  them  in  france — & 
have  joind  in  the  most  earnest  Entreaty, 
That  they  may  retm^n  &  fix  in  france — to 
w^!^  I  have  give  my  word  &  honour — You 
will  be  bound  with  me  Eliza!  I  hope,  for 
performance  of  my  promise — I  never  yet 
broke  it,  in  cases  where  Interest  or  pleasure 
could  have  tempted  me, — and  shall  hardly 
do  it  now,  when  tempted  only  by  misery. — 
In  Truth  Eliza!  thou  art  the  Object  to  w^h 
every  act  of  mine  is  directed — You  interfere 
in  every  Project — I  rise — T  go  to  sleep  with 
this  on  my  Brain — how  will  my  dear  Bra- 
mine  approve  of  this? — w^.^  way  will  it  con- 
duce to  make  her  happy?  and  how  will  it 
be  a  proof  of  my  affection  to  her?  are  all 
the  Enquiries  I  make — y^  Honour,  yr  Con- 
duct, y^  Truth  &  regard  for  my  esteem — 
I  know  will  equally  direct  every  Step — & 
movement  of  y""  Desires — &  with  that  As- 
surance, is  it,  my  dear  Girl,  That  I  sustain 
Life.  —  But  when  will  those  Sweet  eyes  of 
thine,  run  over  these  Declarations  ? — how — 
&;  with  whom  are  they  to  be  entrusted;  to 
be    conveyed   to  You? — unless    M^;^  James's 

104 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

friendship  to  us,  finds  some  expedient  —  i 
must  wait — till  the  first  evening  I'm  with 
You — when  I  shall  present  You  wt^  them 
as  a  better  Picture  of  me,  than  Cosway 
could  do  for  You .  .  —  have  been  dismally 
ill  all  day — owing  to  my  course  of  Mede- 
cines  w^!^  are  too  strong  &  forcing  for  this 
gawsy  Constitution  of  mine — I  mend  with 
them  however — good  God!  how  is  it  with 
You?    

June  12.  I  have  return 'd  from  a  deli- 
cious walk  of  Romance,  my  Bramine,  which 
I  am  to  tread  a  thousand  times  over  with 
You  swinging  upon  my  arm  —  tis  to  my 
Convent  —  &  I  have  pluckd  up  a  score  [of] 
Bryars  by  the  roots  w'=^  grew  near  the 
edge  of  the  foot  way,  that  they  might  not 
scratch  or  incommode  you — had  I  been  sure 
of  yT  taking  that  walk  with  me  the  very 
next  day,  I  could  not  have  been  more  seri- 
ous in  my  employm*^ — dear  Enthusiasm? — 
thou  bringst  things  forward  in  a  moment, 
w<=^  Time  keeps  for  Ages  back — I  have  you 
ten  times  a  day  besides  me — I  talk  to  you 
Eliza,  for  hours  together — I  take  yT  Council 
—  I    hear    your    reasons — I    admire   you   for 

105 


LETTERS 

them  I — to  this  magic  of  a  warm  Mind,  I 
owe  all  that's  worth  living  for,  during  this 
State  of  our  Trial  —  Every  Trincket  you 
gave  or  exchanged  w*!^  me  has  its  force — 
yT  Picture  is  Y'self — all  Sentiment,  Softness 
&  Truth  —  It  speaks  —  it  listens  —  'tis  con- 
c'rned — it  resignes — Dearest  Original  1  how 
like  unto  thee  does  it  seem — &  will  seem — 
till  thou  makest  it  vanish,  by  thy  presence 
— I'm  but  so,  so — but  advancing  in  health — 
to  meet  you — to  nurse  you,  to  nourish  you 
agst  you  come — for  I  fear,  You  will  not  ar- 
rive, but  in  a  State  that  calls  out  to  Yorick 
for  support — Thou  art  Mistress,  Eliza,  of  all 
the  powers  he  has  to  sooth  &  protect  thee 
— for  thou  art  Mistress  of  his  heart;  his 
affections;  and  his  reason — &  beyond  that, 
except  a  paltry  purse,  he  has  nothing  worth 
giving  thee — . 

June   13. 

This  has  been  a  year  of  presents  to  me — 
my  Bramine — How  many  presents  have  I 
rec4  from  You  in  the  first  place? — L^  Spen- 
cer has  loaded  me  with  a  grand  Ecritoire  of 
40  Guineas  —  I  am  to  receive  this  week  a 
fourty  Guinea  -  present  of  a  gold  SnufF  Box, 

106 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

as  fine  as  Paris  can  fabricate  one  with  an 
Inscription  on  it,  more  valuable,  than  the 
Box  itself — I  have  a  present  of  a  portrait, 
(which  by  the  by  I  have  immortalized  in 
my  Sentimental  Journey)  worth  them  both 
— I  say  nothing  of  a  gold  Stock  buccle  & 
Buttons  —  tho'  I  rate  them  above  rubies, 
because  they  were  Consecrated  by  the  hand 
of  Friendship,  as  She  fitted  them  to  me. — I 
have  a  present  of  the  Sculptures  upon  poor 
Ovid's  Tomb,  who  died  in  Exile,  tho'  he 
wrote  so  well  upon  the  Art  of  Love — These 
are  in  six  beautiful  Pictures  executed  on 
Marble  at  Rome  —  &  these  Eliza,  I  keep 
sacred  as  Ornaments  for  y'"  Cabinet,  on 
Condition  I  hang  them  up. — and  last  of 
all,  I  have  had  a  present,  Eliza!  this  Year, 
of  a  Heart  so  finely  set  —  with  such  rich 
materials  —  &  Workmanship  —  That  Nature 
must  have  had  the  chief  hand  in  it — If  I 
am  able  to  keep  it — I  shall  be  a  rich  Man 
— If  I  lose  it — I  shall  be  poor  indeed — so 
poor  I  I  shall  stand  begging  at  y\  gates. — 
But  what  can  all  these  presents  portend — 
That  it  will  turn  out  a  fortunate  earnest,  of 
what  is  to  be  given  me  hereafter. 


lor 


LETTERS 

June   14. 

I  want  you  to  comfort  me  my  dear  Bra- 
mine —  &  reconcile  my  mind  to  3  months 
misery — some  days  I  think  Hghtly  of  it — on 
others — my  heart  sinks  down  to  the  earth — 
but  tis  the  last  Trial  of  conjugal  Misery — & 
I  wish  it  was  to  begin  this  moment,  That 
it  might  run  its  period  the  faster — for  sit- 
ting as  I  do,  expecting  sorrow — is  suffering 
it — I  am  going  to  Hall  to  be  philosophizd 
with  for  a  week  or  ten  Days  on  this  point 
— but  one  hour  with  you  would  calm  me 
more  &  furnish  me  with  stronger  Supports 
under  this  weight  upon  my  Spirits,  than  all 
the  world  put  together — Heaven!  to  what 
distressful  Encountres  hast  thou  thought  fit 
to  expose  me — &  was  it  not,  that  thou  hast 
blessd  me  with  a  chearfulness  of  disposition 
— &£  thrown  an  object  in  my  way,  That  is 
to  render  that  Sun  Shine  perpetual  —  Thy 
dealings  with  me,  would  be  a  mystery. 

June  15  —  from  morning  to  night  every 
mom^  of  this  day  held  in  Bondage  at  my 
friend  L^  ffauconberg's — so  have  but  a  mo- 
ment left  to  close  the  day,  as  I  do  every 
one — with  wishing  thee  a  sweet  nights  rest 

108 


I 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

— would  I  was  at  the  feet  of  y^  Bed  fan- 
ning breezes  to  You,  in  yT  Slumbers — Mark! 
— you  will  dream  of  me  this  night — &  if  it 
is  not  recorded  in  your  Journal —  1 11  say, 
you  could  not  recollect  it  the  day  following 
— adieu. — 

June   16. 

My  Chaise  is  so  large — so  high — so  long 
— so  wide — so  Crawford 's-like,  That  I  am 
building  a  coach  house  on  purpose  for  it — 
do  you  dislike  it  for  this  gigantick  size? — 
now  I  remember,  I  heard  you  once  say — 
You  hated  a  small  post  Chaise — w^.^  you 
must  know  determined  my  Choice  to  this — 
because  I  hope  to  make  you  a  present  of 
it — &  if  you  are  squeamish  I  shall  be  as 
squeamish  as  You,  &  return  you  all  yT  pres- 
ents,— but  one — w^.^  I  cannot  part  with — 
and  what  that  is — I  defy  you  to  guess.  I 
have  bought  a  milch  Asse  this  afternoon — & 
purpose  to  live  by  Suction,  to  save  the  ex- 
pences  of  houskeeping — &  have  a  Score  or 
two  guineas  in  my  purse,  next 

June   17. 

I   have  brought  yr  name  Eliza!  and  Pic- 

109 


LETTERS 

ture  into  my  work* — where  they  will  remain 
— when  You  &c  I  are  at  rest  for  ever — Some 
Annotator  or  explainer  of  my  works  in  this 
place  will  take  occasion,  to  speak  of  the 
Friendship  w^.^  subsisted  so  long  &  faith- 
fully betwixt  Yorick  &  the  Lady  he  speaks 
of — Her  Name  he  will  tell  the  world  was 
Draper  —  a  Native  of  India  —  married  there 
to  a  gentleman  in  the  India  Service  of  that 
Name  —  who  brought  her  over  to  England 
for  the  recovery  of  her  health  in  the  Year 
65 — where  She  continued  to  April  the  Year 
1767.  It  was  ab*  three  months  before  her 
Return  to  India,  That  our  Author's  ac- 
quaintance &  hers  began.  M*:^  Draper  had 
a  great  thirst  for  knowledge  —  was  hand- 
some— genteel — engaging — and  of  such  gen- 
tle dispositions  &  so  enlightend  an  under- 
standing,— That  Yorick  (whether  he  made 
much  opposition  is  not  known)  from  an  ac- 
quaintance— soon  became  her  Admirer — they 
caught  fire,  at  each  other  at  the  same  time 
— &  they  w^  often  say,  without  reserve  to 
the  world,  &  without  any  Idea  of  saying 
wrong  in  it,  That  their  Affections  for  each 
other  were  unbounded — M^  Draper  dying  in 

*  A  Sentimental  Journey. 
110 


jyft,y^f^^  ^cr-"^^  9€-cunr€^    (f^ X'^  X'^'^f^  c.^tj 


V. 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

the  Year  *  *  *  *  *  This  Lady  return'd  to 
England  &  Yorick  the  Year  after  becoming 
a  Widower — They  were  married — &  retiring 
to  one  of  his  Livings  in  Yorkshire,  where 
was  a  most  romantic  Situation — they  hved 
&  died  happily — and  are  spoke  of  with  hon- 
our in  the  parish  to  this  day — 

June   18. 

How  do  you  like  the  History,  of  this 
couple,  Eliza  ?  —  is  it  to  your  mind  ?  —  or 
shall  it  be  written  better  some  sentimental 
Evening  after  your  return  —  tis  a  rough 
i^etch — but  I  could  make  it  a  pretty  pic- 
ture, as  the  outlines  are  just — we'll  put  our 
heads  together  &  try  what  we  can  do.  This 
last  Sheet  has  put  it  out  of  my  power,  ever 
to  send  you  this  Journal  to  India  —  I  had 
been  more  guarded  —  but  that  You  have 
often  told  me,  'twas  in  vain  to  think  of 
writing  by  Ships  w^?*  sail  in  March, — as  you 
hoped  to  be  upon  yT  return  again  by  their 
arrival  at  Bombay — If  I  can  write  a  Letter 
I  will — but  this  Journal  must  be  put  into 
Eliza's  hands  by  Yorick  only  —  God  grant 
you  to  read  it  soon. — 


111 


L  E  T  T  E  R  S 

June   19. 

I  never  was  so  well  and  alert,  as  I  find 
myself  this  day — tho'  with  a  face  as  pale  &c 
clear  as  a  Lady  after  her  Lying  in.  Yet 
you  never  saw  me  so  Young  by  5  Years — & 
If  you  do  not  leave  Bombay  soon — You'l 
find  me  as  young  as  Y^self — at  this  rate  of 
going  on Summon'd  from  home — adieu. 

June   20. 

I  think  my  dear  Bramine — That  nature  is 
turn'd  upside  down — for  Wives  go  to  visit 
Husbands,  at  greater  perils  &  take  longer 
journies  to  pay  them  this  Civility  now  a 
days  out  of  ill  Will — than  good — Mine  is 
flying  post  a  Journey  of  a  thousand  Miles 
— with  as  many  miles  to  go  back — merely 
to  see  how  I  do,  &  whether  I  am  fat  or 
lean — &  how  far  are  you  going  to  see  yr 
Helpmate — and  at  such  hazards  to  Yt  Life, 
as  few  Wives'  best  affections  w^  be  able  to 
surmount  —  But  Duty  &  Submission  Eliza 
govern  thee — by  what  impulses  my  Rib  is 
bent  towards  me — I  have  told  you — &  yet 
I  w^  to  God,  Draper  but  rec^  &  treated 
you  with  half  the  courtesy  &  good  nature 
— I   wish   you   was   with  him — for  the  same 

112 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

reason  I  wish  my  Wife  at  Coxwould — That 
She  might  the  sooner  depart  in  peace — She 
is  ill — of  a  Diarhea  which  she  has  from  a 
weakness  on  her  bowels  ever  since  her  para- 
litic  Stroke — Travelling  post  in  hot  weather, 
is  not  the  best  remedy  for  her — but  my  girl 
says  —  she  is  determined  to  venture  —  She 
wrote  me  word  in  Winter,  She  w^  not  leave 
france,  till  her  end  approach 'd — surely  this 
journey  is  not  prophetick!  but  t would  invert 
the  order  of  Things  on  the  other  side  of 
this  Leaf — and  what  is  to  be  on  the  next 
Leaf — The  Fates,  Eliza  only  can  tell  us — 
rest  satisfied. 

June   21. 

have  left  off  all  medicnes — not  caring  to 
tear  my  frame  to  pieces  with  'em — as  T  feel 
perfectly  well. — set  out  for  Crasy  Castle  to 
morrow  morning — where  I  stay  ten  days — 
take  my  Sentimental  Voyage  —  and  this 
Journal  with  me,  as  certain  as  the  two 
first  Wheels  of  my  Chariot  —  I  cannot  go 
on  without  them.  —  I  long  to  see  y":^  —  I 
shall  read  it  a  thousand  times  over  If  I  get 
it  before  yr  arrival  —  What  w^  I  now  give 
for  it — tho'   I   know  there   are  circumstances 

113 


LETTERS 

in  it,  That  will  make  my  heart  bleed  & 
waste  within  me — but  if  all  blows  over — tis 
enough  —  we  will  not  recount  our  Sorrows, 
but  to  shed  tears  of  Joy  over  them  —  O 
Eliza !  Eliza !  Heaven  nor  any  Being  it 
created,  never  so  possessd  a  Man's  heart — 
as  thou  possessest  mine  —  use  it  kindly  — 
Hussy — that  is,   eternally  be  true  to  it. 

June  22.  Ive  been  as  far  as  York  to  day 
with  no  Soul  with  me  in  my  Chase,  but  y^ 
Picture  —  for  it  has  a  Soul  I  think  —  or 
something  like  one  which  has  talk'd  to  me, 
&  been  the  best  Company  I  ever  took  a 
Journey  with  (always  excepting  a  Journey  I 
once  took  with  a  friend  of  y^^  to  Salt  hill, 
&  Enfield  Wash  —  The  pleasure  I  had  in 
those  Journies,  have  left  Impressions  upon 
my  Mind,  which  will  last  my  Life  —  You 
may  tell  her  as  much  when  You  see  her — 
she  will  not  take  it  ill — I  set  out  early  to 
morrow  morning  to  see  MT  Hall — but  take 
my  Journal  along  with  me. 

June  24*^ 

As  pleasant  a  Journey  as  I  am  capable 
of  taking   Eliza!   without  thee — Thou  shalt 

114 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

take  it  with  me  when  time  &  tide  serve 
hereafter,  &  every  other  Journey  w*=.^  ever 
gave  me  pleasure,  shall  be  rolled  over  again 
with  thee  besides  me  —  Amo's  Vale  shall 
look  gay  again  upon  Eliza's  Visit — and  the 
Companion  of  her  Journey,  will  grow  young 
again  as  he  sits  upon  her  Banks  with  Eliza 
seated  besides  him — I  have  this  and  a  thou- 
sand little  parties  of  pleasure — &  systems  of 
living  out  of  the  comon  high  road  of  Life, 
hourly  working  in  my  fancy  for  you — there 
wants  only  the  Dramatis  Personce  for  the 
performance — the  play  is  wrote — the  Scenes 
are  painted  —  &  the  Curtain  ready  to  be 
drawn  up. — the  whole  Piece  waits  for  thee, 
my  Eliza — 

June  25. — In  a  course  of  continual  visits 
&  Invitations  here — Bombay-Lascelles  dined 
here  to  day  (his  Wife  yesterday  brought  to 
bed)  —  (he  is  a  poor  sorry  soul  1  but  has 
taken  a  house  two  miles  from  Crasy  Castle 
— What  a  Stupid,  selfish,  unsentimental  set 
of  Beings  are  the  Bulk  of  our  Sex!  by 
Heaven  1  not  one  man  out  of  50,  informd 
with  feelings — or  endow' d  either  with  heads 
or  hearts  able  to  possess  &  fill  the  mind — of 

11^ 


LETTERS 

such  a  Being  as  thee, — with  one  Vibration 
Hke  its  own — I  never  see  or  converse  with 
one  of  my  Sex — but  I  give  this  point  a  re- 
flection— how  w^  such  a  creature  please  my 
Bramine?  I  assure  thee  Ehza  I  have  not 
been  able  to  find  one,  whom  I  thought 
could  please  You — the  turn  of  Sentiment, 
with  w'^^  1  left  yT  Character  possess' d — must 
improve,  hourly  upon  You — Truth,  fidelity, 
honour  &  Love  mix'd  up  with  Delicacy, 
garrantee  one  another — and  a  taste  so  im- 
proved as  y'"^,  by  so  delicious  fare,  can 
never  degenerate  —  I  shall  find  you,  my 
Bramine,  if  possible,  more  valuable  &;  lovely 
than  when  you  first  caught  my  esteem  and 
kindness  for  You  —  and  tho'  I  see  not  this 
change — I  give  you  so  much  Credit  for  it — 
that  at  this  moment,  my  heart  glowes  more 
warmly  as  I  think  of  you — &  I  find  my- 
self more  your  Husband  than  contracts  can 
make  us — I  stay  here  till  the  29*^^ — had  in- 
tended a  longer  Stay — but  much  company 
&  Dissipation  rob  me  of  the  only  comfort 
my  mind  takes,  w^.'^  is  in  retirement,  where 
I  can  think  of  You  Eliza!  and  enjoy  you 
quietly  &;  without  Interruption — tis  the  way 
We   must   expect   all   that   is   to   be   had  of 

116 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

real  enjoyment  in  this  vile  world  —  which 
being  miserable  itself — seems  so  confederated 
ag^.^  the  happiness  of  the  Happy,  that  they 
are  forced  to  secure  it  in  private — Vanity 
must  still  be  had ;  —  &  that,  Eliza !  every 
thing  w*^!^  it,  w^^  Yorick's  sense,  or  gener- 
osity has  to  furnish  to  one  he  loves  so 
much  as  thee — need  T  tell  thee — Thou  wilt 
be  as  much  a  Mistress  of — as  thou  art  eter- 
nally of  thy  Yorick — adieu — adieu — 

June  26  —  elven  at  night  —  out  all  the 
day — dined  with  a  large  Party — shewd  yf 
Picture  from  the  fullness  of  my  heart  — 
highly  admired  —  alas!  said  I  did  you  but 
see  the  Original  1 — good  night. — 

June  27. 

Ten  in  the  morning,  with  my  SnufF  open 
at  the  Top  of  this  sheet,  —  &;  your  gentle 
sweet  face  opposite  to  mine,  &  saying 
' '  what  I  write  will  be  cordially  read ' '  — 
possibly  you  may  be  precisely  engaged  at 
this  very  hour,  the  same  way — and  telling 
me  some  interesting  Story  ab*  yT  health,  y"" 
sufferings — yT  heart  aches — and  other  Sensa- 
tions  w^.^  friendship — absence   &   uncertainty 

iir 


LETTERS 

create  within  you.  for  my  own  part,  my 
dear  Eliza,  I  am  a  prey  to  every  thing  in 
its  turn — &  was  it  not  for  that  sweet  clew 
of  hope  w^^  is  perpetual  opening  me  a  way 
which  is  to  lead  me  to  thee  thro'  all  this 
Labyrinth — was  it  not  for  this,  my  Eliza! 
how  could  I  find  rest  for  this  bewilderd 
heart  of  mine  ? — I  sh^  wait  for  you  till  Sep- 
tember came — &  if  you  did  not  arrive  with 
it — sh^  sicken  &  die — but  I  will  live  for 
thee — so  count  me  Immortal — 3  India  Men 
arrived  within  ten  days — will  none  of  'em 
bring  me  Tidings  of  You? — but  I  am  fool- 
ish—  but  ever  thine  —  my  dear,  dear  Bra- 
mine. 

June  28. 

O  what  a  tormenting  night  have  my 
dreams  led  me  aW  You  Eliza — M":^  Draper 
a  Widow ! — with  a  hand  at  Liberty  to  give ! 
— and  gave  it  to  another! — She  told  me — I 
must  acquiese — it  could  not  be  otherwise. 
Acquiese!  cried  I,  waking  in  agonies — God 
be  prais'd  cried  I — tis  a  dream — fell  asleep 
after — dreamd  You  was  married  to  the  Cap- 
tain of  the  Ship — I  waked  in  a  fever — but 
'twas  the  Fever  in  my  blood  which  brought 

118 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

on  this  painful  chain  of  Ideas — for  I  am  ill 
to  day — &  for  want  of  more  cheary  Ideas,  I 
torment  my  Eliza  with  these — whose  Sensi- 
bility will  suffer,  if  Yorick  could  dream  but  of 
her  Infidelity!  &  I  suffer  Eliza  in  my  turn, 
&  think  my  self  at  pres^  little  better  than 
an  old  woman  or  a  Dreamer  of  Dreams  in 
the  Scripture  Language — I  am  going  to  ride 
myself  into  better  health  &  better  fancies 
with  Hall  —  whose  Castle  lying  near  the 
Sea — We  have  a  Beach  as  even  as  a  mir- 
rour  of  5  miles  in  Length  before  it,  where 
we  dayly  run  races  in  our  Chaises;  with 
one  wheel  in  the  Sea,  &  the  other  in  the 
Sand — O  Eliza,  w'^^  wt  fresh  ardour  h  im- 
patience when  I'm  viewing  the  element, 
do  I  sigh  for  thy  return — But  I  need  no 
memento's  of  my  Destitution  &  misery  for 
want  of  thee — I  carry  them  aW  me,  —  & 
shall  not  lay  them  down — (for  I  worship  & 
I  do  Idolize  these  tender  sorrows)  till  I 
meet  thee  upon  the  Beech  &  present  the 
handkerchiefs  staind  with  blood  w^.^  broke 
out  from  my  heart  upon  yT  departure  — 
This  token  of  what  I  felt  at  that  Crisis, 
Eliza,  shall  never,  never  be  wash'd  out. 
Adieu   my  dear  Wife — you  are  still  mine — 

119 


LETTERS 

notwithstanding  all  the  Dreams  &  Dreamers 
in  the  World. — Mr  Lascells  dined  w*^!*  us — 
Mem^  I  have  to  tell  you  a  Conversation — 
I  will  not  write  it — 

June  29.  am  got  home  from  Halls — to 
Cox  would — O  'tis  a  delicious  retreat!  both 
from  its  beauty,  &  air  of  Solitude;  &  so 
sweetly  does  every  thing  ab*  it  invite  y^ 
mind  to  rest  from  its  Labours  and  be  at 
peace  with  itself  &c  the  world — That  tis  the 
only  place,  Eliza,  I  could  live  in  at  this 
juncture — I  hope  one  day.  You  will  like  it 
as  much  as  yT  Bramine — It  shall  be  deco- 
rated &  made  more  worthy  of  You — by  the 
time  fate  encourages  me  to  look  for  you — I 
have  made  you  a  sweet  Sitting  Room  (as 
I  told  You)  already — and  am  projecting  a 
good  Bed- Chamber  adjoing  it,  with  a  pretty 
dressing  room  for  You,  which  connects  them 
together — &  when  they  are  finishd,  will  be 
as  sweet  a  set  of  romantic  apartments,  as 
You  ever  beheld  —  the  Sleeping  room  will 
be  very  large  —  The  dressing  room,  thro' 
■yych  You  pass  into  yT  Temple,  will  be  little 
— but  Big  enough  to  hold  a  dressing  Table — 
a  couple  of  chairs,  with  room  for  yT  Nymph 

120 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

to  stand  at  her  ease  both  behind  and  on 
either  side  of  you  —  w*^  spare  Room  to 
hang  a  dozen  petticoats  —  gowns,  &c  —  & 
Shelves  for  as  many  Bandboxes  —  yr  Uttle 
Temple  I  hav^e  described — and  what  it  will 
hold — but  if  it  ever  it  holds  You  &  I,  my 
Eliza — the  Room  will  not  be  too  little  for 
us  —  but  We  shall  be  too  big  for  the 
Room. — 


June  30. — Tis  now  a  quarter  of  a  year 
(wanting  3  days)  since  You  sail'd  from  the 
Downs — in  one  month  more — You  will  be 
(I  trust)  at  Madras — &  there  you  will  stay 
I  suppose  2  long  long  months,  before  you 
set  out  for  Bombay — Tis  there  I  shall  want 
to  hear  from  you,  —  most  impatiently — be- 
cause the  most  interesting  Letters  must 
come  from  Eliza  when  she  is  there  —  at 
present,  I  can  hear  of  y^  health,  &  tho'  that 
of  all  Acc^?  affects  me  most — yet  still  I  have 
hopes  taking  their  Rise  from  that — &  those 
are — What  Impression  you  can  make  upon 
M^  Draper,  towards  setting  you  at  Liberty — 
&  leaving  you  to  pursue  the  best  measures 
for  yr  preservation — and  these  are  points,   1 

m 


LETTERS 

w^  go  to  Aleppo,  to  know  certainty* :  I  have 
been  possess 'd  all  day  &  night  with  an 
opinion,  That  Draper  will  change  his  be- 
haviour totally  towards  you  —  That  he  will 
grow  friendly  &  caressing — and  as  he  knows 
yr  nature  is  easily  to  be  won  with  gentle- 
ness, he  will  practice  it  to  turn  you  from 
yT  purpose  of  quitting  him^ — In  short  when 
it  comes  to  the  point  of  yT  going  from  him 
to  England — it  will  have  so  much  the  face, 
if  not  the  reality,  of  an  alienation  on  yT  side 
from  India  for  ever,  as  a  place  you  cannot 
live  at — that  he  will  part  with  You  by  no 
means,  he  can  prevent — You  will  be  caj  oiled 
my  dear  Eliza  thus  out  of  yT  Life — but  what 
serves  it  to  write  this,  unless  means  can  be 
found  for  You  to  read  it — If  you  come  not 
— I  will  take  the  Safest  Cautions  I  can  to 
have  it  got  to  You  —  &  risk  every  thing, 
rather  than  You  should  not  know  how  much 
I  think  of  You — &  how  much  stronger  hold 
you  have  got  of  me,  than  ever. — Dillon  has 
obtain'd  his  fair  Indian  —  &  has  this  post 
wrote  a  kind  Letter  of  enquiry  after  Yorick 
and   his    Bramine  —  he   is   a   good    Soul  —  & 

*  This  is  probably  a  slip  for  "certainly,"  though  Sterqe  may 
have  intended  "for  a  certainty." 

122 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

interests  himself  much  in  our  fate — I  have 
wrote  him  a  whole  Sheet*  of  paper  ab^  us — 
it  ought  to  have  been  copied  into  this 
Journal  —  but  the  uncertainty  of  yT  ever 
reading  it,  makes  me  omit  that,  with  a 
thousand  other  things,  which  when  we 
meet,  shall  beguile  us  of  many  a  long 
winters  night. — those  precious  Nights! — my 
Eliza!  You  rate  them  as  high  as  I  do — 
&  look  back  upon  the  manner  the  hours 
glided  over  our  heads  in  them,  with  the 
same  Interest  &  Delight  as  the  Man  you 
spent  them  with — They  are  all  that  remains 
to  us — except  the  Expectatio7i  of  their  re- 
turn—  the  Space  between  us  is  a  dismal 
Void  —  full  of  doubts  &  suspence — Heaven 
&  its  kindest  Spirits,  my  dear  rest  over  y' 
thoughts  by  day — &  free  them  from  all  dis- 
turbance at  night  adieu  —  adieu  Eliza !  —  I 
have  got  over  this  Month — so  fare  wel  to 
it,  &  the  Sorrows  it  has  brought  with  it — 
the  next  month,  I  prophecy  will  be  worse. 

July  1. — But  who  can  foretell  what  a  a 
month  may  produce — Eliza — I  have  no  less 
than    seven    different    chances  —  not    one    of 

*  This  letter  is  probably  lost.     Consult  Letter  CXLI. 

123 


LETTERS 

w^.h  is  improbable — and  any  one  of  ['em] 
would  set  me  much  at  Liberty — &  some  of 
'em  render  me  compleatly  happy — as  they  w^ 
facilitate  &  open  the  road  to  thee  —  what 
these  chances  are  I  leave  thee  to  con- 
jecture, my  Eliza — some  of  them  You  can- 
not divine  —  tho'  I  once  hinted  them  to 
You — but  those  are  pecuniary  chances  aris- 
ing out  of  my  Prebend — &;  so  not  likely  to 
stick  in  thy  brain — nor  could  they  occupy 
mine  a  moment,  but  on  thy  ace* .  .  I  hope 
before  I  meet  thee  Eliza  on  the  Beach,  to 
have  every  thing  plann'd;  that  depends  on 
me  properly — &  for  what  depends  upon  him 
who  orders  every  Event  for  us,  to  him  I 
leave  &  trust  it — We  shall  be  happy  at  last 
I  know  —  tis  the  Corner  Stone  of  all  my 
Castles — &  tis  all  I  bargain  for.  I  am  per- 
fectly recoverd — or  more  than  recover' d — for 
never  did  I  feel  such  Indications  of  health 
or  Strength  &  promptness  of  mind  —  not- 
withstanding the  Cloud  hanging  over  me  of 
a  Visit — &  all  its  tormenting  consequences — 
Hall  has  wrote  an  affecting  little  poem  upon 
it — the  next  time  I  see  him,  I  will  get  it, 
&  transcbe  it  in  this  Journal,  for  You  .  . 
He  has  persuaded   me  to  trust  her  with  no 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

more  than  fifteen  hundred  pounds  into 
Frane[e] — twil  purchase  150  p^.^  a  year — &  to 
let  the  rest  come  annually  from  myself — 
the  advice  is  wise  enough,  If  I  can  get 
her  off  with  it — I  11  summon  up  the  Hus- 
band a  little  (if  I  can)  —  &  keep  the  500 
p^^  remaining  for  emergencies — who  knows, 
Eliza,  what  sort  of  Emergencies  may  cry 
out  for  it — I  conceive  some — &  you  Eliza 
are  not  backward  in  Conception — so  may 
conceive  others.  /  wish  I  was  in  Arno^s 
Vale!— 

July  2^— But  I  am  in  the  Vale  of  Cox- 
would  &  wish  You  saw  in  how  princely  a 
manner  I  live  in  it — tis  a  Land  of  Plenty — 
I  sit  down  alone  to  Venison,  fish  or  wild 
foul — or  a  couple  of  fouls — with  curds,  and 
strawberrys  h  cream,  (and  all  the  simple 
clean  plenty  w^l^  a  rich  Vally  can  produce, 
— with  a  Bottle  of  wine  on  my  right  hand 
(as  in  Bond  street)  to  drink  y^  health — I 
have  a  hundred  hens  &  chickens  M  my 
yard — and  not  a  parishoner  catches  a  hare 
a  rabbit  or  a  Trout — but  he  brings  it  as 
an  offering — In  short  tis  a  golden  Vally — 
&  will  be  the  golden  Age  when  You  govern 

135 


LETTERS 

the  rural  feast,  my  Bramine,  &  are  the  Mis- 
tress of  my  table  &t,  spread  it  with  elegancy 
and  that  natural  grace  &  bounty  w^^^  w*^** 
heaven  has  distinguish 'd  You  .  . 

— Time  goes  on  slowly — every  thing  stands 
still — hours  seem  days  &  days  seem  Years 
whilst  you  lengthen  the  Distance  between 
us — from  Madras  to  Bombay — 1  shall  think 
it  shortening — and  then  desire  &  expectation 
will  be  upon  the  rack  again — come — come — 

July  3^ 

Hail!  Hail!  my  dear  Eliza — I  steal  some- 
thing every  day  from  my  sentimental  Jour- 
ney— to  obey  a  more  sentimental  impulse  in 
writing  to  you  —  &  giving  you  the  present 
Picture  of  myself — my  wishes — my  Love, 
my  sincerity — my  hopes — my  fears — tell  me, 
have  I  varied  in  any  one  Lineament,  from 
the  first  sitting — to  this  last — have  I  been 
less  warm — less  tender  and  affectionate  than 
you  expected  or  could  have  wish'd  me  in 
any  one  of  'em — or,  however  varied  in  the 
expressions  of  what  I  was  &  what  I  felt, 
have  I  not  still  presented  the  same  air  and 
face  towards  thee? — take  it  as  a  Sample  of 
what  I  ever  shall  be — My  dear  Bramine — & 

126 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

that  is — such  as  my  honour,  my  Engage- 
ments &  promisses  k  desires  have  fix'd  me 
—  I  want  You  to  be  on  the  other  side  of 
my  httle  table,  to  hear  how  sweetly  y!" 
Voice  will  be  in  Unison  to  all  this — I  want 
to  hear  what  You  have  to  say  to  y^  Yorick 
upon  this  Text. — what  heavenly  Consolation 
w^  drop  from  y^  Lips — &  how  pathetically 
you  w^  enforce  yT  Truth  &  Love  upon  my 
heart  to  free  it  from  every  Aching  doubt — 
Doubt!  did  1  say — but  I  have  none — and 
as  soon  w^  I  doubt  the  Scripture  I  have 
preach 'd  on — as  question  thy  promisses  or 
suppose  one  Thought  in  thy  heart  during 
thy  absence  from  me,  unworthy  of  my 
Eliza — for  if  thou  art  false,  my  Bramine — 
the  whole  world — and  Nature  itself  are  lyars 
— and  I  will  trust  to  nothing  on  this  side 
of  heaven  —  but  turn  aside  from  all  Com- 
merce with  expectation,  &  go  quietly  on 
my  way  alone  towards  a  State  where  no 
disappointments  can  follow  me  —  you  are 
grieved  when  1  talk  thus;  it  implies  what 
does  not  exist  in  either  of  us — so  cross  it 
out  if  thou  wilt — or  leave  it  as  a  part  of 
the  picture  of  a  heart  that  again  Languishes 
for  Possession — and  is  disturbed  at  every  Idea 


LETTERS 

of  its  uncertainty — So  heaven  bless  thee — & 
ballance  thy  passions  better  than  I  have 
power  to  regulate  mine  —  farewel  my  dear 
Girl  —  I  sit  in  dread  of  tomorrovi^s  post 
which  is  to  bring  me  an  ace*  when  Madame 

is  to  arrive. 

July  4^^  Hear  nothing  of  her  —  so  am 
tortured  from  post  to  post,  for  I  want  to 
know  certainly  the  day  8^  hour  of  this  Judg- 
ment—  She  is  moreover  ill,  as  my  Lydia 
writes  me  word — &  I'm  impatient  to  know 
whether  tis  that — or  what  other  Cause  de- 
tains her,  &  keeps  me  in  this  vile  state  of 
Ignorance — I'm  pitied  by  every  Soul  in  pro- 
portion as  her  Character  is  detested — &  her 
Errand  known — She  is  coming,  every  one 
says,  to  flea  poor  Yorick  or  stay  him — &  I 
am  spirited  up  by  every  friend  I  have  to 
sell  my  Life  dear  h  fight  valiantly  in  de- 
fence both  of  my  property  h  Life — Now 
my  Maxim,  Eliza,  is  quietly  \sic\  in  three* 
— "Spare  my  Life,  and  take  all  I  have["] — 
If  she  is  not  content  to  decamp  with  that — 
One  Kingdome  shall  not  hold  us — for  If  she 
will   not   betake   herself  to    France — I  will. 

*  Sterne  apparently  intended  "is  quickly  wrote  in  three 
words. '  * 

128 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

but  these,  I  verlily  [sic]  believe  my  fears  & 
nothing  more — for  she  will  be  as  impatient 
to  quit  England — as  I  could  with  her — but 
of  this — you  will  know  more,  before  I  have 
gone  thro'  this  month's  Journal.  —  I  get 
2000  pounds  for  my  Estate — that  is,  I  had 
the  offer  this  morning  of  it — &  think  tis 
enough. — when  that  is  gone — I  will  begin 
saving  for  thee  —  but  in  Saving  myself  for 
thee,  That  &  every  other  kind  Act  is  im- 
plied.— get  on  slowly  with  my  Work — but 
my  head  is  too  full  of  other  Matters — yet 
will  I  finish  it  before  I  see  London — for  I 
am  of  too  scrupulous  honour  to  break  faith 
with  the  world  —  great  Authors  make  no 
scruple  of  it — but  if  they  are  great  Authors 
— I'm  sure  they  are  little  Men.  —  k  I'm 
sure  also  of  another  Point  w^.^  concerns  y""- 
self — &  that  is  Eliza,  that  You  shall  never 
find  me  one  hair  breadth  a  less  Man  than 
you  *  — farewell — I  love  thee  eter- 
nally— 

July  5.  Two  letters  from  the  South  of 
France  by  this  post,  by  which  by  some 
fatality,  I  find  not  one  of  my  Letters  have 
got   to    them    this    month  —  This    gives    me 

*  Erasure. 

129 


LETTERS 

concern  —  because  it  has  the  aspect  of  an 
unseasonable  unkindness  in  me — to  take  no 
notice  of  what  has  the  appearance  at  least 
of  a  Civihty  in  desiring  to  pay  me  a  Visit — 
my  daughter  besides  has  not  deserved  ill  of 
me  —  &  tho'  her  mother  has,  I  w^  not 
ungenerously  take  that  Opportunity,  which 
would  most  overwhelm  her,  to  give  any 
mark  of  my  resentment  —  I  have  besides 
long  since  forgiven  her — &  am  the  more  in- 
clined now  as  she  proposes  a  plan,  by  which 
I  shall  never  more  be  disquieted — in  these  2 
last,  she  renews  her  request  to  have  leave  to 
live  where  she  has  transfer 'd  her  fortune — & 
purposes,  with  my  leave  she  says,  to  end  her 
days  in  the  South  of  france — to  all  which  I 
have  just  been  writing  her  a  Letter  of  Con- 
solation &  good  will — k  to  crown  my  pro- 
fessions, intreat  her  to  take  post  with  my 
girl  to  be  here  time  enough  to  enjoy  York 
races — &  so  having  done  my  duty  to  them — 
I  continue  writing,  to  do  it  to  thee  Eliza 
who  art  the  IFoman  of  my  heaj^t,  &  for 
whom  I  am  ordering  &  planning  this,  & 
every  thing  else — be  assured  my  Bramine 
that  ere  every  thing  is  ripe  for  our  Drama, 
I  shall  work   hard   to   fit   out  h  decorate  a 

13Q 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

little  Theatre  for  us  to  act  on — but  not  be- 
fore a  crouded  house — no  Eliza — it  shall  be 
as  secluded  as  the  elysian  fields — retirement 
is  the  nurse  of  Love  and  kindness — &  I  will 
Woo  &;  caress  thee  in  it  in  such  sort,  that 
every  thicket  &  grotto  we  pass  by  shall  sol- 
licit  the  remembrance  of  the  mutual  pledges 
We  have  exchanged  of  Affection  with  one 
another — oh!  these  expectations — make  me 
sigh  as  I  recite  them — &  many  a  heart-felt 
Interjection!  do  they  cost  me,  as  I  saunter 
alone  in  the  tracks  we  are  to  tread  together 
hereafter — still  I  think  thy  heart  is  with  me 
— &  whilst  I  think  so,  I  prefer  it  to  all  the 
Society  this  world  can  offer — &;  tis  in  truth 
my  dear  oweing  to  this — that  tho  I've  rec'^ 
half  a  dozen  Letters  to  press  me  to  join 
my  friends  at  Scarborough — that  Ive  found 
pretences  not  to  quit  You  here — and  sacri- 
fice the  many  sweet  occasions  I  have  of 
giving  my  thoughts  up  to  You — ,  for  Com- 
pany I  cannot  rellish  since  I  have  tasted  my 
dear  Girl,  the  sweets  of  thine. — 

July  6. 

Three   long   Months   and   three   long  days 
are   passed   &    gone,   since    my    Eliza    sighed 

131 


LETTERS 

on  taking  her  Leave  of  Albions  Cliffs,  & 
of  all  in  Albion,  which  was  dear  to  her — 
How  oft  have  I  smarted  at  the  Idea,  of 
that  last  longing  Look  by  w<=^  thou  badest 
adieu  to  all  thy  heart  sufFerd  at  that  dismal 
Crisis — twas  the  Separation  of  Soul  &  Body 
— &  equal  to  nothing  but  what  passes  on 
that  tremendous  Moment.  —  &  like  it  in 
one  Consequence,  that  thou  art  in  another 
world;  where  I  w^  give  a  world  to  follow 
thee,  or  hear  even  an  Acc^  of  thee — for  this 
I  shall  write  in  a  few  days  to  our  dear 
friend  M^^  James — she  possibly  may  have 
heard  a  single  Syllable  or  two  ab^  You — 
but  it  cannot  be;  the  same  must  have  been 
directed  towards  Yoricks  ear,  to  whom  you 
w^  have  wrote  the  Name  of  Eliza,  had 
there  been  no  time  for  more.  I  w^  almost 
now  compound  w*!^  Fate  —  &  was  I  sure 
Eliza  only  breathd — I  w^  thank  heaven  h 
acquiesce.  I  kiss  your  Picture — your  Shawl 
— &  every  trinket  I  exchanged  with  You — 
every  day  I  live — alas!  1  shall  soon  be  de- 
barrd  of  that — in  a  fortnight  I  must  lock 
them  up  h  clap  my  seal  k,  y''?  upon  them  in 
the  most  secret  Cabinet  of  my  Bureau — You 
may  divine  the  reason,  Eliza!  adieu — adieu! 

J3? 


THE  JOURNAL   TO   ELIZA 

July  7. 

— But  not  Yet — for  I  will  find  means  to 
write  to  you  every  night  whilst  my  people 
are  here — if  I  sit  up  till  midnight,  till  they 
are  asleep. — I  should  not  dare  to  face  you, 
if  I  was  worse  than  my  word  in  the  smallest 
Item — &  this  Journal  I  promised  You  Eliza 
should  be  kept  without  a  chasm  of  a  day  in 
it — &  had  I  my  time  to  myself  &  nothing 
to  do  but  gratify  my  propensity — I  sh^  write 
from  sun  rise  to  sun  set  to  thee  —  But  a 
Book  to  write — a  Wife  to  receive  &  make 
Treaties  with — an  estate  to  sell — a  Parish  to 
superintend — and  a  disquieted  heart  perpetu- 
ally to  reason  with,  are  eternal  calls  upon 
me — &  yet  I  have  you  more  in  my  mind 
than  ever — and  in  proportion  as  I  am  thus 
torn  from  y^  embraces — /  cling  the  closer  to 
the  Idea  of  you.  Your  Figure  is  ever  before 
my  eyes — the  sound  of  y^  voice  vibrates  with 
its  sweetest  tones  the  live  long  day  in  my 
ear — I  can  see  &  hear  nothing  but  my  Eliza, 
remember  this,  when  you  think  my  Journal 
too  short  &  compare  it  not  with  thine,  w^^ 
tho'  it  will  exceed  it  in  length,  can  do  no 
more  than  equal  it  in  Love  and  truth  of 
esteem  —  for   esteem    thee    I    do   beyond   all 

133 


LETTERS 

the  powers  of  eloquence  to  tell  thee  how 
much — &  I  love  thee  my  dear  Girl,  &  pre- 
fer thy  Love,  to  me  more  than  the  whole 
world — 

night — have  not  eat  or  drunk  all  day 
thro'  vexation  of  heart  at  a  couple  of  un- 
grateful unfeeling  Letters  from  that  Quar- 
ter, from  whence,  had  it  pleas'd  God,  I 
should  have  lookd  for  all  my  Comforts — 
but  he  has  will'd  they  sh^  come  from  the 
east — &  he  knows  how  I  am  satisfyed  with 
all  his  Dispensations  —  but  with  none,  my 
dear  Bramine,  so  much  as  this  —  with  w<=^ 
Cordial  upon  my  Spirits — I  go  to  bed,  in 
hopes  of  seeing  thee  in  my  Dreams. 

July  8th 

— eating  my  fowl,  and  my  trouts  &  my 
cream  &  my  strawberries,  as  melancholly  as 
a  Cat;  for  want  of  you — by  the  by,  I  have 
got  one  which  sits  quietly  besides  me,  pur- 
ring all  day  to  my  sorrows — &  looking  up 
gravely  from  time  to  time  in  my  face,  as 
if  she  knew  my  Situation. — how  soothable 
my  heart  is  Eliza,  when  such  little  things 
sooth    it!    for   in   some    pathetic    sinkings    I 

134 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

feel  even  some  support  from  this  poor  Cat 
— I  attend  to  her  purrings — k  think  they 
harmonize  me — they  are  piajiisshno  at  least, 
&  do  not  disturb  me. — poor  Yorickl  to  be 
driven,  vj^^  all  his  sensibilities,  to  these  re- 
sources— all  powerful  Eliza,  that  has  had 
this  Magicl  authority  over  him;  to  bend 
him  thus  to  the  dust — But  I'll  have  my 
revenge,   Hussy! 

July  9.  I  have  been  all  day  making  a 
sweet  Pavillion  in  a  retired  Corner  of  my 
garden, — but  my  Partner  &  Companion  & 
friend  for  whom  I  make  it,  is  fled  from 
me,  &  when  she  return  to  me  again, 
Heaven  who  first  brought  us  together,  best 
knows — when  that  hour  is  foreknown  what 
a  Paradise  will  I  plant  for  thee — till  then 
I  walk  as  Adam  did  whilst  there  was  no 
help-meet  found  for  it,  and  could  almost 
wish  a  days  Sleep  would  come  upon  me  till 
that  Moment  When  t  can  say  as  he  did — 
''Behold  the  Woman  Thou  has  given  me  for 
Wife''  She  shall  be  call'd  La  Bramine. 
Indeed  Indeed  Eliza  I  my  Life  will  be  little 
better  than  a  dream,  till  we  approach  nearer 
to  each  other — I  live  scarse  conscious  of  my 

135 


LETTERS 

existence — or  as  if  I  wanted  a  vital  part;  & 
could  not  live  above  a  few  hours — &  yet  I 
live,  &  live,  &  live  on,  for  thy  Sake,  and 
the  sake  of  thy  truth  to  me;  which  I 
measure  by  my  own, — &  I  fight  ag^?  every 
evil  and  every  danger,  that  1  may  be  able 
to  support  &  shelter  thee  from  danger  and 
evil  also. — upon  my  word,  dear  Girl,  thou 
owest  me  much — but  tis  cruel  to  dun  thee 
when  thou  art  not  in  a  condition  to  pay — I 
think  Eliza  has  not  run  off  in  her  Yoricks 
debt- 
July  10. 

I  cannot  suffer  you  to  be  longer  upon  the 
Water  —  in  10  days  time,  You  shall  be  at 
Madrass — the  element  roles  in  my  head  as 
much  as  y*"?,  &  I  am  sick  at  the  sight  & 
smell  of  it — for  all  this,  my  Eliza,  I  feel 
in  Imagination  &  so  strongly  I  can  bear 
it  no  longer — on  the  20^^!^  therefore  Ins*^  I 
begin  to  write  to  you  as  a  terrestrial  Being 
— I  must  deceive  myself — &  think  so  I  will 
notwithstanding  all  that  Lascelles  has  told 
me — but  there  is  no  truth  in  him. — I  have 
just  kiss'd  yT  picture — even  that  sooths  many 
an  anxiety — I   have  found  out  the  Body  is 

136 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

too  little  for  the  head — it  shall  not  be  recti- 
fied, till  I  sit  by  the  Original,  &  direct  the 
Painter's  Pencil  and  that  done,  will  take  a 
Scamper  to  Enfield  k  see  yT  dear  children — 
if  You  tire  by  the  Way,  there  are  one  or 
two  places  to  rest  at. — I  never  stand  out. 
God  bless  thee — I  am  thine  as  ever 

July  11. 

Sooth  me  —  calm  me  —  pour  thy  healing 
Balm  Eliza,  into  the  sorest  of  hearts — I'm 
pierced  with  the  Ingratitude  and  unquiet 
Spirit  of  a  restless  unreasonable  Wife  whom 
neither  gentleness  or  generosity  can  conquer 
— She  has  now  enterd  upon  a  new  plan  of 
waging  War  with  me,  a  thousand  miles — 
thrice  a  week  this  last  month,  has  the 
quietest  man  under  heaven  been  outraged 
by  her  Letters — I  have  offer' d  to  give  her 
every  Shilling  I  was  worth  except  my  pre- 
ferment, to  be  let  alone  &  left  in  peace  by 
her — Bad  Woman  I  nothing  must  now  pur- 
chace  this,  unless  I  borrow  400  p4^  to  give 
her  &  carry  into  france — more — I  w^  perish 
first,  my  Eliza!  'ere  I  would  give  her  a 
shilling  of  another  man's,  w^^  I  must  do  if 
I   give  her  a  shill?   more  than  I  am  worth. 

137 


LETTERS 

— How  I  now  feel  the  want  of  thee!  my 
dear  Bramine — my  generous  unworldly  hon- 
est creature — I  shall  die  for  want  of  thee 
for  a  thousand  reasons — every  emergency  & 
every  Sorrow  each  day  brings  along  with 
it — tells  me  what  a  Treasure  I  am  bereft 
off, — whilst  I  want  thy  friendship  &  Love 
to  keep  my  head  up  sinking — Gods  will  be 
done,  but  I  think  she  will  send  me  to  my 
grave. — She  will  now  keep  me  in  torture 
till  the  end  of  SeptT  —  &  writes  me  word 
to  day — She  will  delay  her  Journey  two 
Months  beyond  her  1^?^  Intention — it  keeps 
me  in  eternal  suspence  all  the  while  —  for 
she  will  come  unawars  at  last  upon  me — & 
then  adieu  to  the  dear  sweets  of  my  retire- 
ment. 

How  cruelly  are  our  Lots  drawn,  my 
dear — both  made  for  happiness — &  neither 
of  us  made  to  taste  it  I  In  feeling  so 
acutely  for  my  own  disapp^ment  I  drop 
blood  for  thine,  I  call  thee  in  to  my 
Aid  —  &  thou  wantest  mine  as  much  — 
Were  we  together  we  sh^  recover  —  but 
never,  never  till  then  no7'  by  any  other 
Recipe. — 


138 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

July  12. 

Am  ill  all  day  with  the  Impressions  of 
Yesterday's  account.  —  can  neither  eat  or 
drink  or  sit  still  k  write  or  read — I  walk 
like  a  disturbed  Spirit  ab^  my  Garden — 
calling  upon  heaven  &  thee, — to  come  to 
my  Succour  —  couldst  Thou  but  write  one 
word  to  me,  it  would  be  worth  half  the 
world  to  me — my  friends  write  me  millions 
— &  every  one  invites  me  to  flee  from  my 
Solitude  &  come  to  them  —  I  obey  the 
comands  of  my  friend  Hall  who  has  sent 
over  on  purpose  to  fetch  me  —  or  he  will 
come  himself  for  me — so  I  set  off  to  mor- 
row morning  to  take  Sanctuary  in  Crasy 
Castle  —  The  news  papers  have  sent  me 
there  already  by  putting  in  the  following 
paragraph 

"  We  hear  from  Yorkshire,  That  Skelton 
Castle  is  the  present  Rendevouz,  of  the 
most  brilliant  Wits  of  the  Age  —  the  ad- 
mired Author  of  Tristram — MT  Garrick  &c 
beening  [sic]  there;  &  Mr  Coleman  &  many 
other  men  of  Wit  &  Learning  being  every 
day  expected" — when  I  get  there,  w^!*  will 
be    to    morrow    night,    my    Eliza    will    hear 

139 


LETTERS 

from    her  Yorick  —  her  Yorick  —  who   loves 
her  more  than   ever. 

July  13.  Skelton  Castle.  Your  picture 
has  gone  round  the  Table  after  supper — & 
yT  health  after  it,  my  invaluable  friend!  — 
even  the  Ladies,  who  hate  grace  in  another, 
seemed  struck  with  it  in  You  —  but  Alasl 
you  are  as  a  dead  Person  —  &  Justice  (as 
in  all  such  Cases)  is  paid  you  in  course — 
when  thou  returnest  it  will  be  rendered 
more  sparingly  —  but  I'll  make  up  all  de- 
ficiences — by  honouring  You  more  than  ever 
Woman  was  honourd  by  man — every  good 
Quality  That  ever  good  heart  possess 'd — 
thou  possessest  my  dear  Girl;  &  so  sover- 
eignly does  thy  temper  &  sweet  sociability, 
which  harmonize  all  thy  other  properties 
make  me  thine,  that  whilst  thou  art  true 
to  thyself  and  thy  Bramin — he  thinks  thee 
worth  a  world — &  w^  give  a  World  was  he 
master  of  it,  for  the  undisturbed  possession 
of  thee — Time  and  Chance  are  busy  throw- 
ing this  Die  for  me — a  fortunate  Cast,  or 
two,  at  the  most,  makes  our  fortune  —  it 
gives  us  each  other — &  then  for  the  World, 
I  will  not  give  a  pinch  of  SnufF. — Do  take 

140 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

care  of  thyself — keep  this  prospect  before 
thy  eyes — have  a  view  to  it  in  all  y''  Trans- 
actions, Eliza, — In  a  word  Remember  You 
are  mine — and  stand  answerable  for  all  you 
say  &  do  to  me — I  govern  myself  by  the 
same  Rule — &  such  a  History  of  myself  can 
I  lay  before  you  as  shall  create  no  blushes, 
but  those  of  pleasure — tis  midnight — &  so 
sweet  Sleep  to  thee  the  remaining  hours  of 
it.  I  am  more  thine,  my  dear  Eliza!  than 
ever — but  that  cannot  be — 


July  14. 

dining  k  feasting  all  day  at  Mt  Turner's 
— his  Lady  a  fine  Woman  herself,  in  love 
w^h  your  picture — O  my  dear  Lady,  cried  I, 
did  you  but  know  the  Original — but  what 
is  she  to  you,   Tristram — nothing;    but  that 

I    am    in    Love   with    her — et   c^etera 

said    She — no    I    have    given    over   dashes — 

replied  I I  verily  think  my  Eliza  I  shall 

get  this  Picture  set,  so  as  to  wear  it,  as  I 
first  purposed — ab!^  my  neck — I  do  not  like 
the  place  tis  in  —  it  shall  be  nearer  my 
heart  —  Thou  art  ever  in  its  centre  —  good 
night — 

141 


LETTERS 

July  15  —  From  home.  (Skelton  Castle) 
from  8  in  the  morning  till  late  at  Supper — 
I  seldom  have  put  thee  off,  my  dear  Girl — 
&  yet  to  morrow  will  be  as  bad — 

July  16. 

for  Mr  Hall  has  this  Day  left  his  Crasy 
Castle  to  come  and  sojourn  with  me  at 
Shandy  Hall  for  a  few  days — for  so  they 
have  long  christend  our  retired  Cottage — 
we  are  just  arrived  at  it  k  whilst  he  is 
admiring  the  premisses — I  have  stole  away 
to  converse  a  few  minutes  with  thee,  and 
in  thy  own  dressing  room  —  for  I  make 
every  thing  thine  &  call  it  so,  before  hand, 
that  thou  art  to  be  mistress  of  hereafter. 
This  Hereafter,  EHza,  is  but  a  melancholly 
term — but  the  Certainty  of  its  coming  to 
us,  brightens  it  up — pray  do  not  forget  my 
prophecy  in  the  Dedication  of  the  Alma- 
nack —  I  have  the  utmost  faith  in  it  my- 
self—  but  by  what  impulse  my  mind  was 
struck  with  3  Years — heaven  whom  I  be- 
lieve it's  author,  best  knows  —  but  I  shall 
see  yT  face  before  —  but  that  I  leave  to 
You  —  &  to  the  Influence  such  a  Being 
must    have    over   all    inferior   ones — We    are 

142 


THE  JOURNAL  TO   ELIZA 

going  to  dine  with  the  Arch  Bishop*  to 
morrow  —  &  from  thence  to  Harrogate  for 
three  days,  whilst  thou  dear  Soul  art  pent 
up  in  sultry  Nastiness — without  Variety  or 
change  of  face  or  Conversation — Thou  shalt 
have  enough  of  both  when  I  cater  for  thy 
happiness  Eliza — &  if  an  Affectionate  hus- 
band &  400  p*^.^  a  year  in  a  sweeter  Vally 
than  that  of  Jehosophat  will  do — less  thou 
shalt  never  have — but  I  hope  more — &  were 
it  millions  tis  the  same — twould  be  laid  at 
thy  feet — Hall  is  come  in  in  raptures  with 
every  thing — &  so  I  shut  up  my  Journal 
for  to  day  &  to  morrow  for  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  open  it  where  I  go — adieu  my  dear 
Girl— 

18 — was  yesterday  all  the  day  with  our 
A.  Bishop — this  good  Prelate  who  is  one  of 
our  most  refined  Wits  &  the  most  of  a 
gentleman  of  our  order — oppresses  me  with 
his  kindness — he  shews  in  his  treatment  of 
me,  what  he  told  me  upon  taking  my 
Leave  —  that  he  lov^es  me,  &  has  a  high 
Value  for  me — his  Chaplains  tell   me,   he  is 

*  Robert  Hay  Drumraond.    Consult  Letters  LXVI.,  LXXXIV., 
and  CI. 

143 


LETTERS 

perpetually  talking  of  me — &  has  such  an 
opinion  of  my  head  &  heart  that  he  begs 
to  stand  Godfather  for  my  next  Literary 
production  —  so  has  done  me  the  hon^  of 
putting  his  name  in  a  List  which  I  am 
most  proud  of  because  my  Eliza's  name  is 
in  it.  I  have  just  a  moment  to  scrawl  this 
to  thee,  being  at  York — where  I  want  to 
be  employd  in  taking  you  a  little  house, 
where  the  prophet  may  be  accommodated 
with  a  Chamber  in  the  Wall  apart  with  a 
stool  (^  a  Candlestick'"  —  where  his  Soul  can 
be  at  rest  from  the  distractions  of  the  world, 
&  lean  only  upon  his  kind  hostesse.  &  repose 
all  his  Cares,  &  melt  them  along"  with  hers 
on  her  sympathetic  bosom. 

July  19.  Harrogate  Spaws. — drinking  the 
waters  here  till  the  26^^ — to  no  effect,  but 
a  cold  dislike  of  every  one  of  your  sex — I 
did  nothing,  but  make  comparisons  betwixt 
thee  my  Eliza,  &  every  woman  I  saw  and 
talk'd  to — thou  hast  made  me  so  unfit  for 
every  one  else — than*  I  am  thine  as  much 
from   necessity,   as    Love — I   am   thine  by  a 

*  Evidently  a  slip  for  that. 
144 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

thousand  sweet  ties,  the  least  of  which  shall 
never  be  relax 'd — be  assured  my  dear  Bra- 
mine  of  this — &  repay  me  in  so  doing,  the 
Confidence  I  repose  in  thee — yT  absence,  y!" 
distresses,  your  sufferings;  your  conflicts,  all 
make  me  rely  but  the  more  upon  that  fund 
in  you,  w^.^  is  able  to  sustain  so  much 
weight — Providence  I  know  will  relieve  you 
from  one  part  of  it  —  and  it  shall  be  the 
pleasure  of  my  days  to  ease,  my  dear  friend 
of  the  other — I  Love  thee  Eliza,  more  than 
the  heart  of  Man  ever  loved  Woman's — I 
even  love  thee  more  than  I  did,  the  day 
thou  badest  me  farewell — Farewell! — Fare- 
well! to  thee  again — I'm  going  from  hence 
to  York  Races. — 

July  27.  arrived  at  York. — where  I  had 
not  been  2  hours  before  My  heart  was 
overset  with  a  pleasure,  w<=.h  beggard  every 
other,  that  fate  could  give  me — save  thy- 
self— It  was  thy  dear  Packets  from  lago — I 
cannot  give  vent  to  all  the  emotions  I  felt 
even  before  I  opend  them — for  I  knew  thy 
hand — &  my  seal — w^.^  was  only  in  thy  pos- 
session— O  tis  from  my  Eliza,  said  I. — I 
instantly  shut  the  door  of  my  Bed-chamber, 

145 


LETTERS 

&  orderd  myself  to  be  denied — &  spent  the 
whole  evening,  and  till  dinner  the  next  day, 
in  reading  over  and  over  again  the  most  in- 
teresting Acc!^  —  &  the  most  endearing  one 
that  ever  tried  the  tenderness  of  man  —  I 
read  &  wept — and  wept  and  read  till  I  was 
blind — then  grew  sick,  &  went  to  bed — & 
in  an  hour  calld  again  for  the  Candle  —  to 
read  it  once  more  —  as  for  my  dear  Girls 
pains  &;  her  dangers  I  cannot  write  ab* 
them — because  I  cannot  write  my  feelings 
or    express    them    any   how   to    my    mind — 

0  Eliza!  but  I  will  talk  them  over  with 
thee  with  a  sympathy  that  shall  woo  thee, 
so  much  better  than  I  have  ever  done — 
That  we  will  both  be  gainers  in  the  end — 
77/  love  thee  for  the  dangers  thou  hast  past 
— and  thy  Affection  shall  go  hand  in  hand 
w*^!*  me,  because  I'll  pity  thee — as  no  man 
ever  pitied  Woman — but  Love  like  mine  is 
never  satisfied — else  yT  2^  Letter  from  I  ago 
— is  a  Letter  so  warm,  so  simple,  so  tender  I 

1  defy  the  world  to  produce  such  another — 
by  all  thats  kind  &  gracious  1  I  will  entreat 
thee  Eliza  so  kndly — that  thou  shalt  say,  I 
merit  much  of  it — nay  all — for  my  merit  to 
thee,  is  my  truth. 

146 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

I  now  want  to  have  this  week  of  non- 
sensical Festivity  over  —  that  I  may  get 
back,  with  my  picture  w^.^  I  ever  carry 
ab*  me  —  to  my  retreat  and  to  Cordeha — 
when  the  days  of  our  Afflictions  are  over, 
I  oft  amuse  my  fancy,  w*.^  an  Idea,  that 
thou  wilt  come  down  to  me  by  Stealth,  & 
hearing  where  I  have  walk'd  out  to — sur- 
prize me  some  sweet  Shiney  night  at  Cor- 
delia's grave,  &  catch  me  in  thy  Arms  over 
it — O  my  Bramin!  my  Bramin! 

July  31 — am  tired  to  death  with  the  hur- 
rying pleasures  of  these  Races — I  want  still 
&  silent  ones — so  return  home  to  morrow, 
in  search  of  them — I  shall  find  them  as  I 
sit  contemplating  over  thy  passive  picture; 
sweet  Shadow!  of  what  is  to  come!  for  tis 
all  I  can  now  grasp  —  first  and  best  of 
woman  kind !  remember  me,  as  I  remem- 
ber thee  —  tis  asking  a  great  deal  my 
Bramine !  —  but  I  cannot  be  satisfied  with 
less — far  well — fare — happy  till  fate  will  let 
me  cherish  thee  myself. — O  my  Eliza!  thou 
writest  to  me  with  an  Angels  pen — &  thou 
wouldst  win  me  by  thy  Letters,  had  I  never 
seen  thy  face  or  known  thy  heart. 

m 


LETTERS 

Augs*  1.  what  a  sad  Story  thou  hast  told 
me  of  thy  Sufferings  &  Despondences  from 
S^  lago,  till  thy  meeting  w*?^  the  Dutch 
Ship  —  twas  a  sympathy  above  Tears  —  I 
trembled  every  Nerve  as  I  went  from  line 
to  line — &  every  moment  the  Acc^  comes 
across  me — I  suffer  all  I  felt,  over  &  over 
again — will  providence  suffer  all  this  anguish 
without  end — &  without  pity? — '"it  no  can 
6^" — I  am  tried  my  dear  Bramine  in  the 
furnace  of  Affliction  as  much  as  thou — by 
the  time  we  meet,  We  shall  be  fit  only  for 
each  other — &  should  cast  away  upon  any 
other  Harbour. 

Aug^!^  2,  my  wife  uses  me  most  unmer- 
cifully— every  Soul  advises  me  to  fly  from 
her — but  where  can  I  fly  If  I  fly  not  to 
thee  ?  The  Cishop  of  Cork  &  Ross*  has 
made  me  great  offers  in  Ireland  —  but  I 
will  take  no  step  without  thee  —  &  till 
heaven  opens  us  some  track  —  He  is  the 
best  of  feeling  tender  hearted  men — knows 
our  Story  —  sends  You  his  Blessing  —  and 
says  if  the  Ship   you   return   in   touches   at 

*Dr.   Jemmet   Brown,   whom    Sterne  met  at    Scarborough. 
Consult  Letter  CLV. 

148 


THE  JOURNAL   TO   ELIZA 

Cork  (w'^^  many  India  men  do)  —  he  will 
take  you  to  his  palace,  till  he  can  send  for 
me  to  join  You — he  only  hopes,  he  says,  to 
join  us  together  for  ever — but  more  of  this 
good  man,  and  his  attachment  to  me — here- 
after and  of  and  [sic]  couple  of  Ladies  in 
the  family  &cc — &c. 

Aug^  3.  I  have  had  an  offer  of  exchang- 
ing two  pieces  of  preferment  T  hold  here 
(but  sweet  Cordelia's  Parish  is  not  one  of 
'em)  for  a  living  of  350  p4^  a  year  in  Surry* 
ab^  30  miles  from  London  —  &  retaining 
Coxwould  &  my  Prebendaryship  —  w*^.^  are 
half  as  much  more  —  the  Country  also  is 
sweet — but  I  will  not — I  cannot  take  any 
step  unless  I  had  thee  my  Eliza  for  whose 
sake  I  live,  to  consult  with — &  till  the  road 
is  open  for  me  as  my  heart  wishes  to  ad- 
vance— with  thy  sweet  light  Burden  in  my 
Arms,  I  could  get  up  fast  the  hill  of  pre- 
ferment, if  I  chose  it — but  without  thee  I 
feel  Lifeless — and  if  a  Mitre  was  offer'd  me, 
I  would  not  have  it,  till  I  could  have  thee 
too,  to  make  it  sit  easy  upon  my  brow — I 

•Consult  Letter  CLXIII. 

149 


LETTERS 

want  kindly  to  smooth  thine,  &  not  only 
wipe  away  thy  tears  but  dry  up  the  Sourse 
of  them  for  ever — 

Aug^!^  4.  Hurried  backwards  &;  forwards 
ab^  the  arrival  of  Madame,  this  whole  week 
— &;  then  farewel  I  fear  to  this  journal — till 
I  get  up  to  London — &  can  pursue  it  as  I 
wish — at  present  all  I  can  write  would  be 
but  the  History  of  my  miserable  feelings — 
She  will  be  ever  present — &  if  I  take  up 
my  pen  for  thee — something  will  jarr  with- 
in me  as  I  do  it — that  I  must  lay  it  down 
again — I  will  give  you  one  gen*.  Ace*  of  all 
my  sufferings  together — but  not  in  Journals 
— I  shall  set  my  wounds  a-bleeding  every 
day  afresh  by  it — &  the  Story  cannot  be 
too  short  —  so  worthiest  best,  kindest  & 
afFec*?  of  Souls  farewell  —  every  Moment 
will  I  have  thee  present  —  &  sooth  my 
sufferings  with  the  looks  my  fancy  shall 
cloath  thee  in — Thou  shalt  lye  down  &  rise 
up  with  me — ab*  my  bed  &  ab*  my  paths, 
&  shalt  see  out  all  my  Ways. — adieu — adieu 
— &£  remember  one  eternal  truth,  My  dear 
Bramine,  w^]^  is  not  the  worse,  because  I 
have    told    it    thee    a    thousand    times    be- 

150 


THE  JOURNAL  TO  ELIZA 

fore — That   I   am   thine — &   thine   only,   & 

for  ever. 

L.  Sterne. 


[Postscript.] 

Nov:  1^*^  All  my  dearest  Eliza  has  turnd 
out  more  favourable  than  my  hopes — M^^  S. 
— &  my  dear  Girl  have  been  2  Months  with 
me  and  they  have  this  day  left  me  to  go  to 
spend  the  Winter  at  York,  after  having  set- 
tled every  thing  to  their  hearts  content — 
M^^  Sterne  retires  into  france,  whence  she 
purposes  not  to  stir,  till  her  death.  —  & 
never,  has  she  vow'd,  will  give  me  another 
sorrowful  or  discontented  hour — I  have  con- 
querd  her,  as  I  w^  every  one  else,  by 
humanity  &  Generosity — &  she  leaves  me, 
more  than  half  in  Love  w*^!^  me — She  goes 
into  the  South  of  france,  her  health  being 
insupportable  in  England  —  &  her  age,  as 
she  now  confesses  ten  Years  more,  than  I 
thought  being  on  the  edge  of  sixty  —  so 
God  bless  —  &  make  the  remainder  of  her 
Life  happy — in  order  to  w^.^  I  am  to  remit 
her  three  hundred  guineas  a  year — &  give 
my  dear  Girl  two  thousand  p4^ — w*^l*  w^l*  all 

151 


LETTERS 

Joy,    I   agree  to,  —  but  tis  to  be  sunk  into 
an  annuity  in  the  french  Loans — 

— And  now  Eliza!  Let  me  talk  to  thee — 
But  What  can  I  say.  What  can  I  write — 
But  the  Yearnings  of  heart  wasted  with 
looking  &  wishing  for  thy  Return — Return 
—  Return !  my  dear  Eliza !  May  heaven 
smooth  the  Way  for  thee  to  send  thee 
safely  to  us,   &  joy   for  Ever. 


isi 


ORIGINAL    LETTERS 


OF 


LAURENCE    STERNE. 


^u^ 


T'^      l}     O'tt/    ^^  ,ft 


ffH.  /LU^^   ifYl^    UAvy^    J        t^  *^^^^  o/y^     <i*7«->t^^ 
^^^.^^y^ /?Z^e!'>r^-e.''>t^    t.crrri.^Cc^       >^«--«~e.        /^^^e-*-*,      •^^T, 


■•;/l    » «r  -^ '    _/ 


A^     • /^    "^^      t.^r;>-y'-*^      ty*^  yC^  ^^r>rr^   },^^o^f^ 


/ic^tt^'^^.i^    «*<*^5Q 


ORIGINAL    LETTERS 

OF 
LAURENCE   STERNE 

TO    DANIEL    DRAPER,    ESQ. 

[Coxwould,   1767?] 

I  OWN  it,  Sir,  that  the  writing  a  letter 
to  a  gentleman  I  have  not  the  hon- 
our to  be  known  to — a  letter  like- 
wise upon  no  kind  of  business  (in  the  ideas 
of  the  world)  is  a  little  out  of  the  common 
course  of  things  —  but  I'm  so  myself,  and 
the  impulse  which  makes  me  take  up  my 
pen  is  out  of  the  common  way  too,  for  it 
arises  from  the  honest  pain  I  should  feel  in 
having  so  great  esteem  and  friendship  as  I 
bear  for  Mrs.  Draper — if  I  did  not  wish  to 
hope  and  extend  it  to  Mr.  Draper  also.  I 
am  really,  dear  sir,  in  love  with  your  wife; 
but  'tis  a  love  you  would  honour  me  for, 
for  'tis  so  like  that  I   bear  my  own  daugh- 

155 


LETTERS 

ter,  who  is  a  good  creature,  that  I  scarce 
distinguish  a  difference  betwixt  it  —  that 
moment   I   had   would   have  been  the  last. 

I  wish  it  had  been  in  my  power  to  have 
been  of  true  use  to  Mrs.  Draper  at  this  dis- 
tance from  her  best  protector.  I  have  be- 
stowed a  great  deal  of  pains  (or  rather,  I 
should  say,  pleasure)  upon  her  head  —  her 
heart  needs  none — and  her  head  as  little  as 
any  daughter  of  Eve's,  and  indeed  less  than 
any  it  has  been  my  fate  to  converse  with 
for  some  years.  I  wish  I  could  make  my- 
self of  any  service  to  Mrs.  D.  whilst  she  is 
in  India,  and  I  in  the  world — for  worldly 
affairs  I  could  be  of  none. 

I  wish  you,  dear  sir,  many  years'  happi- 
ness. 'Tis  a  part  of  my  Litany,  to  pray  for 
her  health  and  life.  She  is  too  good  to  be 
lost,  and  I  would  out  of  pure  zeal  take  a 
pilgrimage  to  Mecca  to  seek  a  medicine.* 


Mr.   Gibba  made  this  version  from  the  rough  draft. 
156 


■,;jaj.;^iiijgiy;ar_j.,:-^y^r.^^^^j^  ■-    -  •^'^J 


(  (iniiiindorr  Jamt;,,  b.\   Sir  Joshua    Htynold.s. 


RS 


O    IS 


it- 

T  wi  een  pov 

tance  from 

stowed  ler,   I 

si  ^n    ber    head  —  her 

h 

any   ...   ..  ver^e 


,   service  to  ^^.^. 
and   I   in  the  wo. 


.,,t.-s   r... 

■.  ■  ♦ 

X        vv  .  ■ 

1:  *i  rn  »  t  1[  *■ 

iiappi 

ness 

pray  f'^ 

her  iit 

tuu 

.J      4-^ 

'    ^    anu 

ui   pure 

zcai    . 

l-O 

,  5.0  seek  a  med?  ' 

r    Gibba  made  thit  version  tnan  the  roug( 

l.'>ti 


LETTERS 


TO   MR.  AND   MRS.   JAMES. 

CoxM^ould,   Augst  10,   1767. 

MY    DEAR    FRIENDS, 

I  but  copy  your  great  civility  to  me — in 
writing  you  word,  that  I  have  this 
moment  rec^  another  Letter,  wrote 
eighteen  days  after  the  date  of  the  last 
from  S^  lago  —  If  our  poor  friend  could 
have  wrote  another  Letter  to  England,  you 
will  in  course  have  it — but  I  fear  from  the 
circumstance  of  great  hurry,  and  bodily  dis- 
order when  she  dispatch' d  this  she  might 
not  have  time — In  case  it  has  so  fallen  out 
— I  send  you  the  contents  of  w^  I  have 
rec4 — and  that  is  a  melancholly  history  of 
herself  and  sufferings  since  they  left  lago — 
continual  and  most  violent  rhumatism  all 
the  time — a  fever  brought  on — with  fits — 
and  attended  with  Delirium,  and  every  ter- 
rifying symptome  —  the  recovery  from  this 
left  her  low  and  emaciated  to  a  skeleton — I 
give  you  the  pain  of  this  detail  with  a 
bleeding  heart — knowing   how   much   at  the 

157 


LETTERS 

same  time  it  will  affect  yours — The  three  or 
four  last  days  in  her  journal,  leave  us  with 
hopes  she  will  do  well  at  last  —  for  she  is 
more  chearful,  and  seems  to  be  getting  up 
her  spirits  —  &  health  in  course  with  it. — 
They  have  cross 'd  the  Line  —  are  much 
becalm 'd — w'^.^  with  other  delays,  [s]he 
fears,  they  will  lose  their  passage  to  Mad- 
rass  —  &  be  some  months  sooner  for  it  at 
Bombay — Heaven  protect  this  worthy  crea- 
ture! for  she  suffers  much,  k  with  uncom- 
mon fortitude — She  writes  much  to  me  ab!^ 
her  dear  friend  M":^  James  in  her  last  Packet 
— in  truth,  my  good  Lady,  she  honours  & 
loves  you  from  her  heart — but  if  she  did 
not — I  should  not  Love  her  half  so  well 
myself  as  I  do. 

Adieu  my  dear  friends  —  You  have 
Very  few  in  the  world,  more  truely 
&  cordially  y"  ^     g^^^^^ 

P.  S. 

I  have  just  rec^  as  a  present  from  a 
right  Hon¥^*  a  most  elegant  gold  Snuff  fab- 
ricated for  me  at  Paris — I  wish  Eliza  was 
here,  I  would  lay  it  at  her  feet — however,  I 

*  Probably,    Mr.  Gibbs   thought,   Sir   George   Macartney,  to 
whom  Sterne  addressed  Letter  CLXII. 

158 


LETTERS 

will  enrich  my  gold  Box,  with  her  picture, 
— &  if  the  Doner  does  not  approve  of  such 
an  acquisition  to  his  pledge  of  friendship — I 
will  send  him  his  Box  again — 

May  I  presume  to  inclose  you  the  Letter 
I  write  to  M*:^  Draper — I  know  you  will 
write  yourself — k  my  Letter  may  have  the 
honour  to  chapron  yours  to  India.  M*"? 
Sterne  &  my  daughter  are  coming  to  stay 
a  couple  of  months  with  [me],  as  far  as 
fi'om  Avignion  —  &  then  return  —  Here's 
Complaisance  for  you  —  I  went  500  miles 
the  last  Spring,  out  of  my  way,  to  pay  my 
wife  a  weeks  visit — and  she  is  at  the  ex- 
pence  of  coming  post  a  thousand  miles  to 
return  it — what  a  happy  pair! — however,  en 
passant,  she  takes  back  sixteen  hundred  p*^^ 
into  France  with  her — and  will  do  me  the 
honour  likewise  to  strip  me  of  every  thing 
I  have — Except  Eliza's  Picture,     Adieu. 

Endorsed: — 

To  M':^  James 

in  Gerard  Street, 
Soho, 

London. 

Free         Fauconberg. 

159 


LETTERS 


TO    MR.   AND    MRS.  JAMES. 

York,   Dec.   28,    1767. 

I  WAS  afraid  that  either  my  friend  M' 
James,  or  M^^  James,  or  their  Httle 
Blossome  was  drooping,  or  that  some 
of  you  were  ill  by  not  having  the  pleasure 
of  a  line  from  you,  &  was  thinking  of  writ- 
ing again  to  enquire  after  you  all — when  T 
was  cast  down  myself  with  a  fever,  &  bleed- 
ing at  my  lungs,  which  had  confined  me  to 
my  room  three  weeks,  when  I  had  the  favour 
of  y'"^  which  till  to  day  I  have  not  been  able 
to  thank  you  both  kindly  for,  as  I  most  cor- 
dially now  do, — as  well  as  for  all  y':  proofs 
&  professions  of  good  will  to  me — I  will  not 
say,  I  have  not  ballanced  Acc^^  with  you  in 
this — all  I  know,  is.  That  I  honour  and  value 
you  more  than  I  do  any  good  creature  upon 
earth — k  that  I  could  not  wish  y"^  happiness 
and  the  Successe  of  whatever  conduces  to  it, 
more  than  I  do,  was  I  your  Brother — but 
good  god !  are  we  not  all  brothers  and  sisters, 
who  are  friendly  &  virtuous  &  good? — 

160 


LETTERS 

Surely  my  dear  friends,  my  Illness  has 
made  a  sort  of  sympathy  for  yT  Afflictions 
upon  the  Score  of  yT  dear  little  one — and  I 
make  no  doubt  when  I  see  Eliza's  Journal, 
I  shall  find  she  has  been  ill  herself  at  that 
time — I  am  rent  to  pieces  with  uncertainty 
aW  this  dear  friend  of  ours  —  I  think  too 
much — &  interest  my  self  so  deeply  by  my 
friendship  for  her,  that  I  am  worn  down  to 
a  Shadow — to  this  I  owe  my  decay  of  health 
— but  I  can't  help  it 

As  my  fever  has  left  me,  1  set  off  the 
latter  end  of  the  week  with  my  friend  Mr 
Hall  for  Town — I  need  not  tell  my  friends 
in  Gerard  Street,  I  shall  do  myself  the 
Honour  to  visit  them  before  either  Lord 
Shelburn  or  Lord   Spencer   &c.   &;c. — 

I  thank  you  my  dear  friend,  for  what  you 
say  so  kindly  ab^  my  Daughter — it  shews  yf 
good  heart,  as  she  is  a  stranger,  'tis  a  free 
Gift  in  you — but  when  she  is  known  to  you 
— she  shall  win  it  fairly — but  Alasl  when 
this  event  is  to  happen,  is  in  the  clouds — 
M[rs.]  Sterne  has  hired  a  house  ready  fur 
[nished]  at  York,  till  she  returns  to  france 
&  my  Lydia  must  not  leave  her — 

What   a   sad    scratch    of  a    Letter — but   1 

161 


LETTERS 

am  weak  my  dear  friends  both  in  body  & 
mind — so  God  bless  you — Youl  see  me  en- 
ter like  a  Ghost — so  I  tell  you  before  hand, 
not  to  be  frighten 'd. 

I  am,  my  dear  friends 

with  truest  attachment  & 

end   esteem  Y!*" 

L.   Sterne. 

Endorsed: — 
To 

Mr  or   M'?  James 
Gerrard  Street 
Soho 

London. 


162 


LETTERS 


OF 


ELIZABETH  DRAPER. 


LETTERS 

OF 
ELIZABETH    DRAPER 


TO 


* 


[Tellicheny  April,   1769.] 


MY    DEAR    SIR 

IT'S  with  great  pleasure  I  take  every  op- 
portunity of  paying  my  Duty  to  you, 
but  more  particularly  this  by  the  Gren- 
ville,  as  by  her  I'm  enabled  to  give  you  a 
better  account  of  Mr.  Drapers  success  as  a 
Merchant,  than  he  flatter' d  himself  with  any 
hopes  of,  upon  his  arrival  at  Tellicherry,  and 
if  Fortune  continues  to  be  as  propitious  to 
us,  the  six  ensuing  Seasons,  as  she's  proved 
the  last,  —  Mr.  D.  would  not  thank  the 
Directors  for  nominating  him  to  the  Gov- 
ernment   of    Bombay.     We    are    both    well, 

*  Some  friend  in  England  formerly  in  the  Indian  service. 

165 


LETTERS 

entirely  contented  and  wish  not  to  exchange 
our  situation,  but  for  an  Independance  in 
England,  which  I  hope  we  are  in  the  way 
of  obtaining,  and  may  accomplish  in  six  or 
seven  Years,  notwithstanding  Hyder  Ally 
maintains  his  Ground,  and  has  absolutely 
refused  to  listen  to  terms  of  Peace  from 
the  Madrassers,  unless  they  will  make  over 
Trichinopoly  to  him.  this,  they  think  they 
can  not  in  point  of  Honor,  or  Conscience  do 
— tho'  they  are  heartily  tired  of  the  War,  & 
wish  to  accommodate  with  him,  on  reason- 
able terms — they  are  now  preparing  for  a 
long  Siege,  which  he  has  threatened  them 
with,  and  if  they  do  not  receive  Supplies 
of  Money,  &  Troops,  from  England,  God 
knows!  what  will  be  their  fate! — as  Hyder 
is  really  a  very  clever,  and  enterprising  Man, 
— accustomed  to  face,  &  Conquer  Europeans 
and  has  for  his  surest  adviser,  one  of  the 
best  Politicians  in  India,  Governour  Laws — 
of  Pondicherry,  whom  it  is  imagined,  has 
always  plan'd  each  of  his  Campaigns;  the 
Gentlemen  of  Bengal  have  drained  their 
Treasury,  to  befriend  those  of  Madrass — but 
the  Governour  of  Bombay — will  not  consent 
to   assist   them   in   any  respect,  tho'   he  has 

166 


LETTERS 

often  been  sollicited  to  do  it — and  a  little 
timely  aid  from  our  side,  might  have  pre- 
vented the  present  melancholy  prospect,  but 
he  says,  he  has  no  notion  of  Quixotism  ad- 
ventures, and  as  we  cannot  benefit  by  the 
troubles,  he  will  not  risque  our  suffering  any 
loss, — this  argument  is  very  cruel,*  &  super- 
ficial, tho'  at  first  it  may  appear  Specious, 
tis  impolitic  too,  because  if  the  Madrassers 
are  worsted,  we  certainly  shall  be  the  next 
Prey  —  but  that's  a  distant  Day,  &  he 
always  quotes  ' '  sufficient  to  the  Day  is  the 
"Evil  thereof."  but  he  is  a  poor,  despic-t 
able  Creature,  in  every  respect  and  as  unfit 
for  a  Governour  —  as  I  am  for  an  Ach- 
Bishop,  not  one  Individual,  is  there  at 
Bombay,  his  friend,  —  and  in  short,  he 
neither  is  —  or  deserves  to  be,  Loved, 
esteem' d,  or  feared.  We  are  very  par- 
ticularly interested  in  Hyders  success,  at 
this  Settlement,  as  he  has  most  of  the 
Country  powers,  about  us,  in  total  subjec- 
tion, &  infests  our  Coast,  with  his  Fleet,  to 
intercept  our  Merchantmen,  their's  no  leav- 

*  The   letters  ru  in   this   word  have  been  altered  from  some- 
thing else. 

t  The  c  in  this  word  has  been  altered  from  s. 

16T 


LETTERS 

ing   us,  now   for   Bombay,   with  any  safety, 
without  a  Convoy,  &  the  Bombay  Cruizers, 
three    or    four   of    them,    are    Stationed    be- 
tween   Carwar,   Onore,   &    Mount   Dilly,   for 
that  purpose,     we  are  terribly  infested  too, 
by    the    Cooley    Boats,    &    Mallawans.     the 
Morattas,     had    the    Insolence    to    surround 
Bombay    with    their    Fleet    a    few    months 
since,    which    did    not    a    little    terrify    our 
Pusillanimous    General,    but   they   soon    dis- 
persed when  the  Commodore  received    Per- 
mission   to    ask    them    some    questions,     it's 
imagined   this    Bravado   was   effected   at   the 
Instigation  of  Hyder,  to  Divert  us  from  all 
thoughts  of  sending  Troops   to    Madrass,   it 
answer' d   his   hopes — but   if    he   had    bribed 
the    Governours    Brahmin    to   be    his   friend, 
it  would   have  done  as  well — for  nothing  in 
Public   or   domestic    Concerns,    is    transacted 
at  Bombay,  without  that  Fellows  knowledge 
&  consent     some  of  the  Gentlemen  by  way 
of  reprimand,  have  advised   Mr.    Hodges   to 
give   him   a   Seat   at   Council,     our  Island  is 
now    very    Populous  —  very    expensive,  very 
improvable,   &  would  be  very  flourishing,  if 
we    had    a    proper    Man    at    the    head    of 
affairs.       This  Coast  has  been  vastly  injured 

168 


LETTERS 

by  Hyders  Ravages,  'tis  nothing  in  Com- 
parison to  what  it  was  some  Years  ago,  but 
would  still  be  the  Source  of  profit  to  the 
Company,  &  a  Tellicherry  Chief  if  the  War 
was  once  happily  terminated. — Most  of  the 
Gentlemen  that  distinguished  themselves,  by 
behaving  ill  at  Mangulore,  have  been  broke 
by  a  General  Court  Martial  at  Bombay,  it 
was  a  tedious  affair — lasting  upwards  of  six 
Weeks,  tho'  the  Members  met  Daily, — This 
my  dear  Sir,  is  all  the  Public  Intelligence, 
I  can  recollect,  worthy  of  transmitting  you, 
and  now  for  a  little  private,  Tom  White- 
hill,  my  kind  Uncle,  is  well — I  often  hear 
from  him  &  he  must  by  all  accounts,  have 
made  himself  independant,  by  this  time,  he 
is  increasing  his  Family  of  Natural  Children, 
but  declared  to  me,  that  he  never  would 
give  them  more  than  five  thousand  rupees 
each,  because  he  would  not  tempt  any 
Gentleman  to  marry  them  for  the  sake  of 
Money,  and  he  had  rather  dispose  of  them 
to  Phesendars  of  their  own  Colour — than  to 
Europeans — he  has  one  Daughter  marriage- 
able, two  young  ones,  &  two  or  three  infant 
Sons,  —  I  never  hear  from  Jack  Whitehill, 
but    I    know    he    is    well,    from    my    Corre- 

169 


LETTERS 

spondents  at  Madrass,  I  hope  he  does  not 
maintain  Silence  to  his  EngKsh  friends,  as 
...  *  should  he  be  a  good  Accomptant  & 
write  swiftly  Mr  Draper  would  be  very  glad 
of  him  here — make  it  worth  his  while,  and 
keep  him  out  of  harms  way,  as  he  is  in 
want  of  just  such  a  Person,  You  know  his 
inability  to  use  the  Pen  —  he  has  lost  his 
two  Clerks  too,  &;  if  I  was  not  capable  of 
assisting,  &  maintaining  his  Correspondence 
for  him  I  know  not  what  he  would  do,  at 
this  juncture.  I  only  fulfil  my  Duty — and 
have  not  the  least  merit  in  it — as  a  good 
Purvoe  that  thoroughly  understood  English, 
and  spelled  properly — would  answer  his 
Views  still  better.  Louisa  is  very  advanta- 
geously married,  to  the  Commander  of  our 
Forces,  a  Colonel  Pemble,  he  is  handsome, 
amiable  and  magnificent  in  his  temper — his 
Income  amounts  to  thirty  thousand  Rupees 
a  year — but  I  fear  they  stand  little  chance 
of  saving  a  Fortune,  as  they  are  Gay — ex- 
travagant, &  fond  of  Company,  but  I  know 
not  if  it  signifies  much — as  they  love  India 
— are  health5%  admired,  and  esteemed  here — 
and  not  very  desirous  of  exchanging  affluence 

*  A  few  lines  of  the  manuscript  are  lost  here. 
170 


LETTERS 

in  the  Eastern * 

fondness,  and  is  a  Prince  in  Spirit,  and  occa- 
sional good  works,  they  are  on  no  terms 
with  the  Governour,  neither  visiting,  or  be- 
ing visited  by  him.  A  Mr  Banister,  that  is 
much  older  than  yourself  &  formerly  knew 
you  in  the  Service,  now  resides  here  —  he 
desired  me  to  present  his  kindest  remem- 
brances to  you,  assuring  you  of  his  unalter- 
able esteem,  &  good  wishes.  The  good  Man 
&c  his  Wife  live  very  comfortably — are  well, 
and  much  noticed  with  respectful  attention 
I  hope  to  be  favor' d  with  long  &  interest- 
ing letters  from  Europe  by  the  next  Ship — 
England,  which  was  always  dear  to  me — was 
never  so  much  so  as  now  I — the  We[l]fare  of 
my  dear  Children,  sits  very  near  my  heart, 
&  I  cannot  help  feeling  great  anxiety  on  their 
account,  tho'  I  am  confident  of  Mrs  White- 
hills  care,  and  best  attention  to  their  true 
Interest,  God  preserve  the  poor  babes ! 
may  they  live  to  give  satisfaction  to  their 
Parents — and  reflect  honour  on  their  amiable 
Protectress !  I  hope  you  had  an  agreable 
Summer  in  the  Society  of  my  friend  and 
little *  by  presenting  my  com- 

*  Some  lines  are  lost. 

171 


LETTERS 

pliments  to  him,  and  best  wishes  for  his 
health,  and  enjoyment  of  England;  we  now 
wish  him  our  Head  again,  would  to  Heaven 
he  had  not  left  us  a  Prey  to  the  foolish 
policy,  and  low  Cunning  of  an  Hodges*! 
the  wish  is  entirely  general,  not  a  moist 
Eye — or  grave  Countenance  will  be  visible 
on  his  Departure,  unless  it's  his  Female 
CofFary  Shirt  airers, — for  a  few  Rupees,  or 
mere  form's  sake,  oh  !  he  is  gloriously 
hated  !  and  I  prognosticate,  ever  will  be 
so — even  by  the  Wife  of  his  Bosom — if  he 
is  Dotard  enough  with  his  jealous  propen 
[sities]  and  Selfish  particularities,  to  make  a 
second  choice!  but  no: — his  avarice  will  pre- 
vent his  marrying  again,  for  a  good  Woman 
would  loathe  his  Wealth  with  such  an  In- 
cumbrance as  himself — and  a  bad  one's .... 

t  happy — prays  your  ever 

grateful  and t  ed  Child. 

Eliza  Draper 
Tellicherry 
April    1769 


*  Thomas    Hodges,    Governour   of    Bombay   (1767-71).       His 
predecessor  was  Charles  Crommelin  (1760-67). 

fSome  lines  are  lost. 
1T2 


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Belvidere  House,  by  I.'  e  WoodwSrd  "/eijfler,  from  an  oriffinal 
sketch  bv  J.  0.  l'Vaz<r 


ETTERS 

pi  ^st   wishes    for   his 

England;  we  now 

w  ould  to  Heaven 

•ey   to    the   foolish 


policy, 

lodges* ! 

the   wi 

not    a    moist 

Jive — ( 

ice   will    he  visible 

oi 

Female 

C 

^    js,  or 

e.      oh  !     he    is    erlorioiislv 

so  -is  Bosom     ,      .. 

is  ....    his  jealous   propen 

[s  ..XV.  ^^articu^-T'Hif^c    fo  make  a 


1 


tw^-  „i  vvill  pre- 


.  iv.i  "^oman 

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i.  r>-  -i   Al4  i  V 


April    17fi?> 


pr  J-6T). 

tSome  lines  are  lost. 

172 


LETTERS 

P.  S. 

Mv  Draper  presents  you  his  respectful 
Compliments,  with  t[he  sin]cerest  assurences 
of  his  doing  every  thi[ng  i]n  his  power  for 
Stephen,  if  you   se[nd    him]  to    Bombay. 


To  MRS  ANNE   JAMES. 

Bombay  15*!^  April  1772. 

I  NOW  have  before  me.  Dearest  of 
Women,  and  Friend  twenty  sheets 
of  your  writing  received  this  year; 
and  mean  to  answer  every  page  of  it  which 
I've  not  yet  replied  to  distinctly — the  first 
Letter  is  dated  15*^  May  1771  by  Try  on  of 
the  Deptford,  this  I  answered  months  ago — 
as  I  did  that  of  the  5^^  April,  by  Captain 
Allen,  the  contents  of  which  related  wholly 
to  himself  &  M^  Cooper  his  Nephew,  and 
one  of  the  same  date,  by  MT  Allen  his 
Purser  to  the  same  effect  —  Your  next  is 
dated  28*^!^  April  and  enclosed  an  Account 
of  Money  Matters — that  of  the  20*!^   should 

173 


LETTERS 

have  been  handed  first,  but  as  it  contains 
much  more  importantant  [sic]  matter,  I  pur- 
posely omitted  giving  it  the  Precedence — 
from  meaning  to  speak  at  large  on  some 
parts  of  it. — You  say  my  dear,  that  you  had 
''suffered  much  Uneasiness  at  hearing  that  I 
thought  you  had  not  acted  a  friendly  part 
by  me  in  protecting  two  unfortunate  People,^ 
and  requesting  me  to  make  a  contribution 
amongst  my  friends  in  their  Favor:  —  that, 
this  Report  touched  you  to  the  heart;  tho' 
you  disbelieved  it,  as  it  was  inconsistent  with 
my  Humanity,  my  opijiion  of  you,  and  the 
reverse  of  all  my  letters,  and  yet,  when  you 
found,  that  I  had  wrote  to  Becket,^  your 
Ideas'  were  rather  confused;  for  if  I  had, 
had  a  proper  reliance  on  you,  I  need  not 
have  applied  to  him;  as  I  might  have  sup- 
posed, you  would  find  some  means  to  secure 
my  letters,  if  violent  measures  had  been  the 
Widows  Plan;  but,  that  you,  was  perfectly 
easy  as  to  that  matter;  and  imagined  I 
should  have  been  the  same;  knowing  you  to 
be  my  Friend — that  there  was  a  stiffness,  in 
my  calling  you  M^.^  James,  which  eat  you  to 

*  Sterne's  widow  and  daughter, 
t  Thomas  Becket,  the  publisher. 

1T4 


LETTERS 

the  heart,  pm'ticidarly,  when  I  said  I  could 
not  accost  you  with  my  usual  Freedom  — 
What  had  you  done  to  create  reserve,  ^  dis- 
tance? and  had  my  letter  concluded  in  the 
same  style,  you  shoidd  have  believed  I  tvas 
altered,  not  you.'"'  I  will  endeavour  to  an- 
swer all  this  very  plainly,  and  in  the  first 
place,  I  do  assure  you  then,  on  my  never 
forfeited  word,  that  I  neither  by  Thought, 
Word,  or  Action,  ever  gave  the  most  dis- 
tant Cause  for  such  a  Report,  and  how,  or 
wherefore  it  was  invented  &  propagated,  I 
know  no  more,  than  I  do  of  any  one  foreign 
Circumstance,  j^et  unheard,  or  unthought  of 
by  me — it  is  certain,  my  dear  James,  that 
so  far  from  thinking  unkindly  of  you  for 
your  patronage  of  the  Sternes,  that  you 
never  to  me,  appeared  in  so  amiable  a 
Light — Strange;  if  you  had  not,  as  noth- 
ing but  a  sordid  Principle,  most  narrowly 
selfish  could  have  induced  me  to  dislike  an 
action  which  had  its  foundation  in  Gener- 
osity, and  all  the  milder  feminine  Virtues — 
but  my  James,  I  will  be  very  explicit  with 
you,  on  this  subject  as  you  have  introduced 
it  yourself — the  World,  I  fear,  does  not  see 
the  beauty  of  a  compassionate  disinterested- 

175 


LETTERS 

ness,  in  the  same  light,  that  you  and  I  do 
— for  it  has  been  said,  and  wrote  to  me, 
more  than  once,  that  my  friend  was  betray- 
ing the  Cause  of  her  Ehza,  in  order  to 
acquire  the  Title  of  Patroness,  to  Beauty, 
and  Distress — I  never  paid  the  least  regard 
to  such  Insinuations — for  I  [pers]onally  sup- 
posed they  had  their  foundation  in  Igno- 
rance, Malice  and  that  Love  of  Talk,  which 
is  alike  common  to  the  rash  Young,  and  ill 
natured  Old — I  cannot  believe  any  thing  to 
the  Prejudice  of  those  I  love  my  dear 
James — nothing  which  arraigns  their  Morals, 
I  am  sure,  I  cannot! — and  if  this  knowledge, 
cannot  secure  me  from  Unkindness  as  deceit 
— I  am,  and  ever  must  be  a  ready  sacrifice 
to  their  Hands — for  I  neither  can  or  will 
maintain  suspicion,  against  the  Friends  I 
trust  —  I  can  but  suffer  by  them,  in  my 
Peace,  Property  or  Fame  —  and  these  are 
ever  at  the  Devotion  of  those  I  love,  if 
more  consequential  to  them,  than  my  Ease 
— I  might  in  such  Case  lament  the  fate  of 
my  ill  star'd  sensibility,  which  led  me  to  fix 
my  Regards  on  Persons  so  incapable  of  pro- 
moting my  Happiness,  from  not  being  equally 
conscious   as   myself  how  much  pleasanter  it 

176 


LETTERS 

is  to  love  another  with  the  most  endearing 
affection,  than  to  regard  the  Pleas  of  a  poor 
Selfish  Self — Some  Philosophers  and  Moral- 
ists too,  assert  the  proof  to  be  impossible, 
but  I  deny  the  Facts,  and  could  deduce 
from  my  own  Experience,  Young  as  I  am, 
a  thousand  Instances  to  validate  my  Opinion 
to  the  most  Incredulous  —  but  of  that,  no 
more  at  present — for  it  is  a  Key,  harsh  and 
Untuneful,  to  the  Notes  of  Peace,  and 
might  awaken  every  painful  sense,  which 
could  set  my  heart  a  bleeding — You  won- 
der my  dear,  at  my  writing  to  Becket — I'll 
tell  3^ou  why  I  did  so — /  had  heard  some 
Anecdotes  extremely  disadvantageous  to  the 
Characters  of  the  Widow  <^  Daughter,  and 
that  from  Persons  who  said  they  had  been 
personally  acquairited  with  them,  both  in 
France  and  England — /  had  no  reason  to 
doubt,  the  Veracity  of  these  Gentlemen  In- 
formants, they  could  have  no  view  in  de- 
ceiving me,  or  motive  of  putting  me  on  my 
Guard,  but  what  arose  from  Be7ievole?ice, 
which  I  hope  is  common  to  the  greatest  par^t 
of  Mankind — Some  part  of  their  Intelligence, 
corroborated,  what  I  had  a  thousand  times 
heard,  from   the   lips   of  Yorick,   almost,   in- 

177 


LETTERS 

variably  repeated — the  JVidow,  I  was  assured 
was  occasionally  a  Drinker,  a  Swearer,  ex- 
ceeding Unchaste  —  Mo'  in  point  of  Under- 
standing, and  finished  Address  supposed  to 
be  inferior  to  no  Woman  in  Eui^ope  —  the 
Secret  of  my  Letters  being  in  her  hands, 
had  some  how  become  extremely  Public,  it 
was  noticed  to  me  by  almost  every  Acquaint- 
ance I  had  in  the  C[ompany's]*  Ships,  as  at 
this  Settlement  —  this  alarmed  me  —  for  at 
that  time  I  had  never  Communicated  the 
Circumstance,  and  could  not  suspect  you  of 
acting  by  me  in  any  manner,  which  I  would 
not  have  acted  in  by  my  self — One  Gentle- 
man in  particular  told  me,  that  both  you, 
and  I  should  be  deceived,  if  we  had  the 
least  reliance  on  the  Honor  or  Principles  of 
M":^  Sterne,  for  that,  when  she  had  secured 
as  much  as  she  could,  for  suppressing  the 
Correspondence,  she  was  capable  of  seUing 
it  to  a  Bookseller  afterwards — by  either  re- 
fusing to  restore  it  to  you — or  taking  Copies 
of  it,  without  our  knowledge — and  therefore 
he  advised  me,  if  I  was  averse  to  it's  Pub- 
lication to  take  every  means  in  my  Power 
of    Suppressing    it  —  this    influenced    me    to 

*  Here  and  elsewhere  the  manuscript  is  worn  away. 

178 


LETTERS 

write  to  Becket,  and  promise  him  a  reward 
equal  to  his  Expectations,  if  He  would  de- 
liver the  Letters  to  you  (I  think  I  proposed 
no  other  method  to  Him  except  this,  but  I 
am  not  sure)  in  case  they  were  offered  him 
for  sale — I  had  a  long  Conflict  in  my  own 
mind  whether  I  should,  or  should  not  reveal 
every  thing  regarding  this  Business  to  you 
at  length,  I  determined  to  keep  the  Secret 
in  my  own  breast  and  that  from  a  motive 
[of]  Delicacy  rather  than  good  Judgment — so 
well  do  I  know,  how  harshly  it  grates,  to 
have  those  we  love,  aspersed,  whether  with 
or  without  Foundation — My  Circumstances, 
as  to  this  Family  were  peculiar,  and  require 
the  nicest  Conduct  —  Interest,  Jealousy,  a 
thousand  Narrow  Motives,  might  be  sup- 
posed to  Stimulate  me!  as  I  could  not  with 
Honor,  have  disclosed  my  Authorities  for 
advancing  many  things  I  must  have  ad- 
vanced, to  say  the  half  of  what  I  had  been 
told, — and  a  real  or  pretended  respect,  for 
myself  had  prompted  the  disclosure  of  them, 
it  would  have  been  something  worse  than 
ungenerous  to  have  subjected  the  Persons 
to  ill  Will,  or  being  called  upon  to  prove 
their    assertions    when    they    had    a    Moral 


LETTERS 

Claim  to  my  handsome  treatment  at  least, 
for  whether  their  Intelligence  was  founded 
on,  Truth  or  falsehood,  it  is  not  to  be  con- 
ceived, that  they  meant  I  should  suppose 
them  influenced  by  unjust  Motives;  conse- 
quently, it  had  all  the  Rights  of  well  at- 
tested Facts,  till  I  could  disprove  it — This 
I  have  never  been  able  to  do,  tho'  all  my 
Enquiries,  when  Yoricks  Widow  or  Daughter 
has  been  named  have  tended  to  this  effect, 
in  hopes  of  Accomplishing  my  Wishes ;  for  it 
cannot  surely  be  supposed  my  dear  James, 
that  I  am  so  fiend  like  in  my  nature  as  to 
wish  that  any  Woman  of  Sense  and  Char- 
acter, might  be  proved  vicious  rather  than 
virtuous,  by  the  confirmations  of  Truth  or 
Chance — it  is  True  my  friend!  I  love  not 
these  Ladies!  and  what  is  more,  I  think,  I 
think!  Excuse  me  my  dear — that  while  I 
preserve  my  Rectitude  and  Sensibility,  I 
never  shall !  —  and  I  would  not  part  with 
them  for  so  paltry  an  Exchange,  as  the 
Acquisition  of  New  Acquaintances.  "Trifles, 
lisrht  as  air"; — You  know  what  these  are  to 
the  Jealous — and  such  they  are,  to  the  lib- 
eral. Ingenuous  Minded,  I  would  sooner, 
regulate    my   opinion   of    Man    or   Womens 

180 


LETTERS 

real  Worth,  from  their  Conduct  in  Trivial 
INIatters,  than  I  would  from  their  grand 
efforts  to  attain  a  Name  or  Character. — 
Ambition,  Lust  of  Praise,  Interest,  Pride, 
a  thousand  sordid  affections,  may  stimulate, 
in  the  one  Case  —  but  the  other  is  of  too 
humble  a  Nature  to  affect  Glare;  broad 
Day  light  is  not  necessary  to  it;  for  few, 
very,  very  few,  have  that  sense,  which  is 
capable  of  feeling,  a  Grace,  a  Manner,  & 
Decorum,  beyond  the  fixed  &  settled  rules 
of  Vice  &  Virtue — consequently,  when  such 
an  Attention  to  the  Minutiae  is  uniformly 
practised,  by  Male  or  Female,  its  source 
must  be  in  the  Heart,  from  a  preferable 
love  to  Goodness  only — How  I  do,  more 
than  Admire,  a  Creature  so  Characterized  ! 
I  would  almost  suffer  Martyrdom,  to  see 
such  Perfection  in  my  only  Child !  and  if  I 
live  to  be  her  Monitress  it  shall  be  the 
Study  of  my  Life  to  make  her  capable  of 

it My    dear   Friend,   that    Stiffness   you 

complain 'd  of  when  I  called  you  M\^  James, 
&  said  I  could  not  accost  you  with  my 
usual  Freedom  Entirely  arose  from  depres- 
sion of  Spirits,  too  natural  to  the  Mortified, 
when  severe  Disappointments  gall  the  sense 

181 


LETTERS 

— You  had  told  me  that  Sterne  was  no 
more — I  had  heard  it  before;  but  this  con- 
formation [sic]  of  it  sorely  afflicted  me;  for  I 
was  almost  an  Idolator  of  His  Worth, 
while  I  fancied  Him  the  Mild,  Generous, 
Good  Yorick,  We  had  so  often  thought 
Him  to  be — to  add  to  my  regrets  for  his 
loss  —  his  Widow  had  my  letters  in  her 
Power,  (I  never  entertained  a  good  opinion 
of  her)  and  meant  to  subject  me  to  Disgrace 
&  Inconvenience  by  the  Publication  of  them 
— You  knew  not  the  contents  of  these  let- 
ters, and  it  was  natural  for  you  to  form  the 
worst  judgment  of  them,  when  those  who 
had  seen  'em  reported  them,  unfavorably, 
and  were  disposed  to  dislike  me  on  that 
account — My  dear  Girl!  had  I  not  cause  to 
feel  humbled  so  circumstanced — and  can  you 
wonder  at  my  sensations  communicating 
themselves  to  my  Pen?  You  cannot  on 
reflection  —  for  such  are  the  Emotions  of 
the  Human  Heart,  that  they  must  influence 
human  Actions,  while  Truth  and  Nature,  are 
unsubdued — I  do  not,  I  assure  you  my  dear 
James,  I  never  did,  think  you  acted  by  me 
other  than  the  kindest  part  throughout  this 
whole  Transaction  with  the  Sternes— I  lament 


LETTERS 

your  attachment  to  them,  but  I  only  lament 
it  for  your  sake,  in  case  Lydia,  is  rather 
speciously  attractive  than  mildly  amiable ; 
W^.^  I  have  heard  Insinuated  —  whatever 
cause,  I  may  have  to  dislike  them  on  my 
own  account,  I  can  have  none  to  do  so  on 
Yours — While  they  preserve  an  Empire  in 
Your  Breast  from  their  superiority  in  Merit 
principally  —  but  beware  of  Deceivers  my 
dear  Woman,  the  best  Hearts  are  most 
liable  to  be  imposed  on,  by  them — Frank, 
Generous,  Kind  themselves — they  naturally 
suppose.  Each  Companion  of  specious  sem- 
blance, a  Kindred  Spirit,  till  dire  Experience 
has  convinced  them,  that  Hypocrisy  can  as- 
sume all  Shapes  meet  for  her  Purpose: — do 
not  suppose  my  Caution  arises  from  any 
thing  but  affection ;  for  tho'  I  hint  at 
Counterfeits  to  you,  I  never  suffer  any 
thing  of  the  kind  to  escape  me  to  others 
— On  the  contrary  I  ever  speak  of  both 
Widow  &;  Daughter  as  you  or  they,  might 
wish  me  to  speak,  when  expatiating  on  the 
subject,  —  for  I  have  no  Idea  my  James, 
that  Eliza's  opinion  is  to  be  the  Standard 
of  other  Peoples,  well  as  I  think  of  it  in 
the    main — and    however   Angry    I    may   be 

183 


LETTERS 

with  them  in  my  heart,  I  should  be  very 
sorry  to  have  People  I  esteemed  think  ill 
of  them — as  a  proof  of  which,  I'll  transcribe 
for  you,  part  of  a  letter  1  wrote  on  the 
subject  the  other  Day,  to  Colonel  Campbell 
in  Bengal — who  is  a  great  Favorite  of  Mine, 
had  sent  me  six  hundred  Rupees,  which  He 
had  raised  by  Contributions  for  their  use, 
and  hinted  *  his  wishes  to  know  something 
of  the  Ladies — as  He  meant  to  visit  Eng- 
land shortly. — "I  sensibly  feel  the  Exertions 
of  your  kindness  in  behalf  of  my  Friends 
Widow  &  Daughter — and  assure  myself, 
if  you  ever  know  them,  that  your  own 
Complacency  will  administer  a  Reward 
from  the  Consciousness  of  having  served 
two  very  Amiable  Persons;  as  well  Edu- 
cated Women,  of  Talents,  and  Sensibility, 
are,  I  believe  of  all  others,  the  most  seri- 
ous objects  of  a  Generous  Compassion, 
when  obliged  to  Descend  from  an  Easy 
Elegance,  their  Native  Sphere,  to  the  Mor- 
tifying Vicissitudes  of  Neglect  &  pecuniary 
Embarrassments.  The  Ladies,  are  no 
Strangers  to  your  Character;  and  I  please 
myself  with  the  Notion  of  their  proving  a 

*  In  the  manuscript  "desired"  is  written  above  "hinted." 
184 


LETTERS 


very  agreable  addition  to  your  Acquaint- 
ance, when  you  are  at  all  disposed  to  cul- 
tivate Theirs.  M^^  Sterne,  I  have  heard 
spoke  of  as  one  of  the  most  sensible 
Women  in  Europe — she  is  nearly  related 
to  the  M^^  Montague,  whose  Essay  on  the 
Writings  and  Genius  of  Shakespeare  has 
reflected  so  much  Honor,  on  the  reputa- 
tion of  Female  Judgment  &  Generosity — 
which  circumstance  renders  it  probable, 
that  she,  (M^^  Sterne)  may  possess  equal 
Powers  from  Inheritance — Miss  Sterne  is 
supposed  to  have  a  portion  of  each 
Parents  best  Qualities — the  Sensibility  & 
frolic  Vivacity  of  Yorick,  most  happily 
blended  in  her  Composition — Lively  by 
Nature,  Youth  &  Education,  she  cannot 
fail  to  please  every  Spectator  of  capacious 
Mind;  but  much,  I  fear,  that,  the  Shandy 
Race  will  be  Extinct  with  this  Accom- 
plished Young  Woman — for  She's  of  the 
Muses  Train,  and  too  much  attached  to 
them  and  filial  Duties,  to  think  of  a 
change  of  name  with  much  Complacency 
— How  is  it  Colonel  (You  are  a  Casius — 
&  can  tell  me)  that  a  Woman  seldom,  very 
seldom,  judges  favorably  of   the   Wedded 


185 


LETTERS 

' '  Life,  if  once  seriously  attached  to  those 
' '  Moral  Doctrines  &  Poetic  Flights  —  so 
*  *  truely  captivating  to  a  Muse  like  Appre- 
"hension?  And  yet  the  Nine  are  said  to 
"aid  the  Votary's  of  Love  —  Apollo  him- 
"  self,  sacrifices  at  Cupid's  Shrine,  and  Verse 
' '  Men  of  all  Ages,  have  at  some  period  of 
"their  Lives,  been  prone  to  follow  his  great 
"Example. — I  fear,  I  fear:  that  the  Details 
"of  Experience,  joined  to  a  little  more 
"than  ordinary  Penetration  may  be  the 
"true  Source  of  their  Dislike  to  Masculine 
"Subjection." — So  much  my  Dear,  for  my 
discription  of  the  Sternes  to  Colonel  Camp- 
bell, tho'  I've  seen  them  not,  but  v^rith  the 
Minds  Eye :  —  be  so  good  my  dear,  as  to 
announce  his  name  and  Character  to  them, 
as  it's  probable  He  may  find  them  out  and 
make  himself  known  to  them — He  has  been 
very  assiduous  in  collecting  above  one  half 
of  the  Money  I  have  sent  Home  for  their 
use — in  his  Profession  He  is  supposed  to 
have  extraordinary  Merit — and  in  his  Prin- 
ciples, and  Manners,  He  is  I  think,  one  of 
ten  thousand  —  sensible,  sweet  tempered,  & 
Amiable,  to  a  very  great  degree — added  to 
which,     lively,     comical    &    accomplished  — 

186 


LETTERS 

Young,  Handsome,  rich,  &  a  Soldier  I  — 
What  fine  Girl,  would  wish  more?  I  bor- 
row my  Notions  of  M':^  &  Miss  Sterne  from 
Various  Reports — By  culling  the  good  from 
the  bad  in  such  Cases  one  may  at  any  time, 
form  a  tolerable  description  of  a  Character. 
— this  I  believe,  is  what's  called  conveying 
a  Lye,  in  the  Words  of  Truth  —  but  no 
matter — Campbell  cannot  be  hurt  by  think- 
ing favorably  of  them,  and  they  might  be 
much  Injured  by  his  forming  a  different 
opinion — for  the  real  Dislike  of  a  Man  of 
sense  &;  Honor,  this  dislike,  founded,  on 
Principle,  is,  I  think,  the  severest  Disgrace 
that  can  happen  to  a  Woman  of  sentiment 
or  reputation — May  it  never  be  the  fate  of 
Me,  or  Mine,  Good  Heaven  I  for  if  any 
thing  in  Nature  could  prompt  me  to  be 
guilty  of  Suicide,  it  would  be  an  Affliction 
of  this  nature,  all  others  have  their  Allevia- 
tions, but  this,  must  arise,  from  a  conscious- 
ness of  our  being  lost  to  Worth  —  as  a 
Good  &c  Wise  Man,  never  is  Influenced  by 
Caprice,  but  only  contemns  the  Sinner  from 
his  hatred  of  the  Sin.  I  am  grown  very 
moral  of  late,  I  believe,  my  dear  Friend, 
for  I  cannot  help   dispersing  such  grave  re- 

187 


LETTERS 

flections  as  these  throughout  my  Letters  or 
Discourse,  both  my  reading,  and  natural 
turn  of  Mind,  encourages  [this]  Propensity, 
and  as  it  teaches  me  to  have  a  good  reason 
for  the  Minutiae  in  all  Actions  which  savour 
of  kindness,  or  the  Agreable;  I  am  rather 
pleased  with  myself,  for  the  cultivation  of  a 
Taste,  which  may  promote  my  usefulness  in 
Society,  as  well  as  insure  my  own  Approba- 
tion on  just  Grounds. — I  am  a  good  deal 
altered  in  my  appearance  James,  since  you 
used  to  view  me  with  the  Eyes  of  Kind- 
ness, due  only,  to  a  second  self — but,  my 
Head  and  Heart,  if  Self  Love  does  not 
mislead  me,  are  both  much  improved  and 
the  Qualities  of  Reflection  and  tenderness, 
are  no  bad  substitutes  for  that  clearness  of 
Complection,  and  Je-ne-scai-quoi  Air,  which 
my  flatterers  used  to  say  entitled  me  to  the 
Apellation  of  Belle  Indian.  I  read  a  great 
deal,  I  scribble  much — and  T  daily  ride  on 
Horseback,  bathe  in  the  Sea — and  live  most 
abstemiously — but  I  cannot  manage  to  ac- 
quire confirmed  Health  in  this  detested 
Country;  and  what  is  far  worse,  I  cannot 
induce  MT  Draper,  to  let  me  return  to 
England;    tho'    He    must    be    sensible,   that 

188 


LETTERS 

both  my  Constitution  and  Mind,  are  suffer- 
ing by  the  effects  of  a  Warm  CHmate — I 
do,  and  must  wonder  that  He  will  not,*  for 
what  good  Purpose  my  Residence  Here  can 
promote,  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  imagine, 
as  I  am  disposed  to  think  favorably  of  Mr 
D's  Generosity  and  Principles.  My  dear 
James,  it  is  Evident  to  the  whole  of  our 
Acquaintance,  that  our  Minds  are  not 
pair'd,  and  therefore  I  will  not  scruple 
informing  you — that  I  neither  do,  nor  will 
any  more,  if  I  can  help  it  live  with  Him 
as  a  Wife — my  reasons  for  this  are  cogent; 
be  assured  they  are; — or  I  would  not  have 
formed  the  Resolution — I  explain  them  not 
to  the  World — tho'  I  could  do  it,  and  with 
credit  to  myself;  but  for  that  very  cause  I 
will  persevere  in  my  silence — as  1  love  not 
selfish  Panegyricks.  —  How  wretched  must 
be  that  Womans  Fate,  my  dear  James,  who 
loving  Home,  and  having  a  Taste  for  the  Ac- 
quitments [.«c],  both  useful  and  Agreable,  can 
find  nothing  congenial  in  her  Partners  Senti- 
ments— nothing  companionable,  nothing  en- 
gagingly domestic  in  his  Manner,  to  endear 
his    Presence,    nor    even    any    thing   of   that 

•Supply:    "let  rae  return  to  England." 

189 


LETTERS 

Great,  or  respectful  sort,  which  creates  Pub- 
lic Praise,  and  by  such  means,  often  lays 
the  Foundation  of  Esteem,  and  Compla- 
cency at  Home  ?  —  Sad,  Sad  State !  my 
James — and  Wo!  be  to  the  feeling  Heart 
so  circumstanced! — a  Woman  who  might 
have  been  a  Valuable  Member  of  Society, 
is  by  such  disunion  either  a  Mere  Blank — 
or  liable  to  every  Disgrace  resulting  from 
Infamy — if  finely  organized — Grief  &  Dis- 
appointment may  render  useless  all  her 
Mental  Faculties — if  chearful  by  nature,  and 
calculated  to  struggle  with  trying  difficulties, 
in  Hopes  of  surmounting  them,  these  very 
excellencies,  are  so  many  snares  to  her,  as 
they  excite  to  Envy,  Malice,  &  Detraction 
— for  who  is  just  enough  to  acknowledge, 
that  an  Amiable,  Sensible  Woman,  has  fund 
sufficient  in  her  own  Mind,  to  be  a  per- 
petual Resource  to  her  in  all  Calamities 
and  Exigencies?  On  the  contrary,  who  does 
not  Insinuate,  that  where  such  a  Character 
is  unhappily  pair'd  &  Maintains  her  Chear- 
fulness.  Secret  pleasures  make  her  Amends 
for  public  Penances — ?  a  thousand  Causes 
will  rather  be  assigned,  than  the  real  One; 
as  few  People  are  good  enough  themselves, 

190 


LETTERS 

for  Goodness 's  Sake,  to  imagine  that,  that 
Principle  should  regulate  the  Conduct  of  a 
Woman  unhappily  married  —  but  surely  ! 
surely !  they  are  mistaken — for  if  that  same 
laudable  Affection,  will  not  engage  to  the 
Pursuit  of  every  thing  praise  worthy  —  no 
other  I  fear,  will  ever  bear  us  out — as  Vir- 
tue, in  it's  comprehensive  sense,  to  those 
who  understand  it  well  must  have  an  effect 
on  the  mind  very  superior  to  what  is  Ex- 
cited by  Inferior  Principles,  and  yet,  even 
these,  such  as  Pride,  the  love  of  Fame, 
Wealth,  Greatness — a  Humour  or  a  Name; 
will  sometimes  enable  us  to  forego  Ease  & 
Health — and  to  risque  Life  &  Honor — and 
can  it  be  so  divine  a  Thing,  to  Practise 
Worth,  for  Glory's  Sake — and  not  equally 
so,  at  least,  to  Practise  it  for  it's  own — 
when  in  fact  this  same  Glory  is  nothing 
better  than  one  of  it's  under  Ministers  ? 
there  never  was  a  more  just  saying  than 
that  of  Virtue  being  it's  own  Reward — and 
those  who  understand  it's  nature,  could  not 
wish  a  diviner  than  what  springs  from  the 
consciousness  of  it — while  they  are  Inhabit- 
ants of  Earth,  I  mean — for  as  to  a  future 
state  of  Rewards  &  Punishments — I  pretend 

191 


LETTERS 

not  to  argue  about  it  lest  I  should  be  guilty 
of  something  blamable,  when  I  only  wished 
to  assert  the  cause  of  Goodness  as  prefer- 
able to  all  other  known  Causes.  We  can 
but  Reason  from  what  we  know  —  and 
therefore  Silence  and  Modesty  is  the  proper 
Shield  for  Ignorance,  in  such  conflicts  as 
wou'd  prove  superior  to  our  Strength.  —  I 
wonder  not  at  the  Praises  given  to  M!^ 
IMontagues  Essay  —  it  has,  I  am  told,  all 
the  Advantages  of  Learning,  Sound  Criti- 
cism, and  just  Taste.  —  1  am  so  far  a  Judge 
of  it's  Merit,  as  to  be  confident  that  it 
bespeaks  Her  of  a  generous  Nature,  as  it 
seems  calculated  to  rescue  Genius  —  long 
departed  Genius  from  the  illiberal  Censures 
of  Witty  Malice,  now  living,  and  too  long 
triumphant — but  my  dear  James,  the  cir- 
cumstance of  all  others,  I  most  admire  in 
Mi:^  Montagues  Character — is  her  avoiding 
to  put  her  Name  to  this  Performance — this 
evinces  a  something  very  superior,  to  what 
is  commonly  ascribed,  even  to  good  Taste — 
1  would  rather  be  an  Attendant  on  her 
Person,  than  the  first  Peeress  of  the  Realm 
— if,  this  proceeded  from  a  certain  Delicacy 
and   justness    of   Apprehension,    only    to    be 

192 


LETTERS 

met  with  in  Women  of  refined  sense. — 
You  say  my  Friend  that  you  wonder  I 
do  not  employ  my  leisure  Hours  in  writing 
something  which  might  reflect  Lustre  on 
my  Name  —  and  you  encourage  me  to  do 
so,  by  Praises  which  are  easily  accounted 
for  from  the  partiality  you  ever  have 
kindly  considered  my  Talents  with — I  will 
be  very  Ingenuous  with  you  on  this  Sub- 
ject—  There  was  a  time,  when  I  fancied 
myself  capable  of  doing  justice  to  some 
Undertaking  of  the  Moral  kind.  My  Taste 
has  been  thought  judicious,  and  my  lan- 
guage often  Complimented  as  Elegant,  this 
was  Yoricks  given  opinion  of  it  whatever 
his  real  one  might  be. — A  little  Piece  or 
two  I  designed  some  Years  ago,  and  finished 
lately  —  are  not,  perhaps  unworthy  of  the 
Press,  when  compared  with  many  Produc- 
tions which  have  gained  their  Authors  some 
degree  of  Reputation  in  the  literate  World 
— but  my  dear  James,  I  do  not  think  writ- 
ing a  Poem,  a  Play,  an  Essay,  or  an  Any- 
thing the  Chief  Merit  of  a  Woman ;  —  so 
little  do  I  think  it  necessary  to  the  Fame 
of  a  good  one,  that  I  most  assuredly,  if 
capable    of    the    Performance,    would    never 

193 


LETTERS 

affix  my  Name  to  it — my  Vanity  of  this 
kind  is  amazingly  lessened,  if  not  quite 
extinct — from  this  you  may  gather,  that  I 
did  not  always  judge  so  nicely,  as  I  do  at 
present  —  true  my  friend,  a  great  flow  of 
animal  spirits — high  Health — Youth — Flat- 
tery, and  fair  Prospects,  wrought  their  usual 
Effects  on  a  mind  rather  sprightly,  than 
solid,  but  adversity  is  an  Excellent  School 
— and  two  or  three  serious  Afflictions,  have 
done  more  for  me,  in  the  way  of  self  Knowl- 
edge, and  Home  Philosophy,  than  I  might 
probably  [have]  acquired  before  my  Grand 
Climateric,  if  Fortune  had  continued  lavish 
of  her  Smiles  to  me,  her  once  Enthusiastic 
Votary — a  thousand  little  Flights  which  are 
only  to  be  excused,  on  the  score  of  Youth 
&  Gay  Fancy,  now  appear  too  trifling  to 
have  engaged  the  time  &  labour  I  once 
bestowed  on  them,  and  with  a  view,  to 
raise  my  Consequence,  I  own  to  you  my 
beloved  Friend  —  for  I  had  Romance  and 
Vanity  Enough,  to  think  they  would  An- 
swer the  Airy  Purpose  —  and  add  to  my 
Praise,  as  much  as  the  Letters  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne  or  Ninon  D'Lenclos  did  to 
Theirs,   but   as   Judgment   encreased.   Fancy 

194 


LETTERS 

lessened;  and  now  I  should  be  as  much 
concerned,  if  they  were  to  see  the  Light 
in  form  of  a  Printed  Volume  as  I  then 
should  if  I  had  thought  any  unforeseen 
Accident  would  have  robbed  me  the  Pros- 
pect of  many  encomiums,  which  I  flattered 
myself  with  the  notion  of  being  entitled  to 
on  their  Publication  —  this  change  of  Hu- 
mour, induces  me  to  think,  that  my  senti- 
ments may  be  as  different  to  what  they 
now  are,  some  time  hence,  as  they  are  at 
present  from  what  they  were  three  Years 
ago — and  this  renders  me  extremely  averse 
to  shewing  any  of  my  Performances,  lest  I 
should  acquire  a  Name  that  I  could  neither 
support  or  Defend,  for  the  Suffrages  of 
Friendship  are  as  liable  to  Error  in  such 
Cases,  as  the  Censures  of  Malignancy,  and 
I  am  not  qualified  to  steer  clear  of  this 
Scylla  &  Charybdis,  by  those  lukewarm 
affections,  which  enables  Worldy  Wisdom 
to  rest  it's  appeal  with  the  Indifferent — 
for  I  love  not  the  neutral  Character — and 
would  never  consult  it,  in  anything  which 
concerned  the  Heart  or  it's  good  Affections, 
it's  cold  absolves,  approach  too  near  to  the 
Stoical  Virtue — the  only  species  of  Virtue  I 

195 


LETTERS 

have;  and  that  because  "it's  fix'd,  as  in  a 
Frost ' '  —  The  Praises  of  the  whole  Tribe 
could  do  nothing  better  than  play  round 
my  Head,  and  that's  a  minor  Pleasure, 
compared  to  the  Heart  felt  one  of  kind 
Sympathy — I  could  my  dear  James,  assign 
many  Rational  Motives  for  my  declining  to 
scribble  for  the  world,  even  if  my  Inclina- 
tion, and  Capacity  dictated  the  Measure — 
the  former,  seriously  does  not,  and  the 
latter  is  by  no  means  equal  to  the  under- 
taking —  I  have  much,  very  much  indeed 
to  learn,  before  I  can  accomplish  my  first 
Wish  of  deserving  to  be  thought,  a  Woman 
truely  Amiable  enough,  to  employ  me,  my 
whole  Life;  as  my  Powers,  are  not  of  that 
ready  sort  to  receive  Things  quickly  as  if 
by  Intuition — You  must  not  imagine  fi-om 
this,  that  I  dislike  a  Womans  engaging  in 
the  Field  of  Literature  or  Science — far  from 
it,  I  declare  to  you,  if  she  goes  to  it  well 
Armed,  on  the  contrary,  if  I  may  presume 
to  say  so — I  think  that  Salique  Law  a  very 
absurd  one  which  reserves  to  Men  only,  the 
Province  of  Instructing  &  pleasing  by  use- 
ful Lucubrations,  the  result  of  Genius,  Taste 
and    Contemplative    Life.  —  I    cannot    help 

196 


LETTERS 

thinking  that  they  might  be  supposed  to 
infringe  on  our  Prerogative,  if  our  minds 
were  train'd  in  the  same  advantageous  man- 
ner as  Theirs — as  to  learning  and  the  sciences 
I  mean,  for  I  wish  not  to  interfere  in  their 
boistrous  Pursuits. — Our  Genius's,  for  aught 
I  know,  may  be  as  great,  but  however  that 
may  be,  our  Taste,  Apprehension,  DeHcacy, 
in  every  thing  We  are  Mutually  concerned 
in,  soars  far,  very  far  above  Theirs — and  as 
the  Arrangements  of  Civil  Life,  are  man- 
aged— Our  Home  Station,  naturally  induces 
that  contemplative  Turn,  so  advantageous  to 
the  Cause  of  Philosophy  and  all  the  Fine 
Arts — Nothing  I  believe  but  the  frivolous 
Manners,  inculcated  by  our  frivolous  Educa- 
tion, prevents  our  Capacity  for  disputing  the 
Empire  of  Sense,  Wit,  and  Reason  with  these 
Masculine  Rulers,  and  that  they  do  possess  it, 
is  rather  owing  to  their  usurped  Authority  as 
Legislators,  than  to  any  superiority  in  point 
of  natural  advantages — those  of  strength  and 
personal  courage,  excepted.  I  love  my  own 
sex,  James,  and  could  wish  for  the  Honor 
and  Happiness  of  it,  that  the  whole  system 
of  Female  Education  was  very  much  altered, 
tho'   not  totally   reversed  —  M':^   Montague's 

197 


LETTERS 

Pen,  might  do  justice  to  this  subject ;  'tis 
an  important  one,  and  worthy  of  her — had 
I  the  Honor  of  her  Acquaintance  &  good 
opinion,  I  would  strenuously  recommend  it 
to  her  consideration — as  the  pleas  of  natural 
solicitude  uncultivated  by  Art  might  have 
their  just  Weight,  on  a  Mind  so  happily 
enriched  as  hers  is  by  useful  acquirements 
— You  cannot  think  my  dear  James,  how 
much  I  lament  the  want  of  that  knowl- 
edge, which  is  only  to  be  attain 'd  in  the 
Spring  time  of  Life — as  my  Reflection  en- 
creases,  I  daily  am  more  sensible  of  the  loss 
I  have  sustained,  in  not  receiving  those  ad- 
vantages which  are  the  birthright  of  Girls 
well  born,  or  by  nature  teachable,  especially 
if  their  Prospects  are  such  as  to  give  them 
a  chance  of  being  fix'd  in  conspicuous  Life 
— such  was  my  Case — it  is  the  Case  of  all 
Girls  destined  for  India — No  Beings  in  the 
World  are  less  indebted  to  Education  — 
None  living,  require  greater  Assistances  from 
it  —  for  the  regulations  of  time  in  Eastern 
Countries  are  such  that  every  Woman  must 
naturally  have  a  large  portion  of  it,  Leisure; 
this  is  either  a  Blessing  or  Curse,  as  our 
Minds    are   disposed  —  the    Generality   of   us 

198 


LETTERS 

are  extremely  frivolous,  and  Ignorant;  How 
should  we  be  otherwise?  We  were  never 
instructed  in  the  Importance  of  any  thing, 
but  one  Worldly  Point,  that  of  getting  an 
Establishment  of  the  Lucrative  kind,  as  soon 
as  possible,  a  tolerable  Complection,  an  Easy 
Manner,  some  degree  of  taste  in  the  Adjust- 
ment of  our  Ornaments,  some  little  skill  in 
dancing  a  Minuet,  and  singing  an  Air,  are 
the  Summum  Bonum,  of  Perfections  here — 
and  these  are  all  that  Mothers,  Aunts  k 
Governess's  Inculcate. — With  Some  Merit, 
as  to  these  Accomplishments — the  very  best  of 
us — leave  Europe,  and  Commence  Wives  in 
the  East,  [at]  fourteen — Climate,  Custom,  and 
immediate  Examples  —  induce  to  Indolence 
— this  betrays  us  into  the  Practice  of  Gal- 
lantry— that  Prisoner  of  all  that's  Amiable 
&  Good — No  Country  in  the  World  abounds 
more  with  it's  pernicious  Consequences,  no 
Women  in  the  World  are  less  Subject  to 
the  force  of  genuine  Love! — this  may  seem 
a  Paradox,  but  it  is  in  fact  none  at  all — for 
their  grand  object  once  attained,  that  of  a 
settlement  in  Life  —  they  know  not  what 
other  to  pursue — their  Conduct  is  then  reg- 
ulated  by  Chance — and   they  are   Intriguers, 

199 


LETTERS 

or  nominally  virtuous — as  Beauty,  Health, 
or  Temptation  dictates — this  is  a  sad  Pic- 
ture, my  dear  James  —  Yet  it  is  but  too 
strong  a  Resemblance — and  surely  the  hap- 
less originals  of  it,  are  less  blamable  than 
their  Early  Instructors — Why  were  they 
not  taught  the  necessity  of  useful  Employ- 
ments— and  considering  Morals,  next  to  re- 
ligion, as  the  most  essential  of  all  Things 
to  their  Happiness  in  both  Worlds — poor 
Things!  the  Wo7'd  is  a  bye  one  to  Them — 
and  the  Precepts,  it  inculcates — the  subject 
of  their  illiberal  Derision — Many  of  them 
have  good  Propensities  —  but  Habit,  so 
counteracts  their  momentary  Resolves  of 
the  serious  kind  that  no  steadiness  in 
Well  doing  must  be  expected  from  them 
in  this  Climate — the  attaining  useful  knowl- 
edge— and  a  Will  of  our  Own,  on  proper 
Grounds,  is  dreadful  up  Hill  Work,  without 
the  assistance  of  Precept  &  Example,  the 
one  occasionally  to  lean  on,  and  the  other 
to  stimulate;  And  those  Persons,  must  owe 
very  important  obligations  to  Nature,  who 
by  dint  of  knowledge,  self  taught,  can  rise 
superior  to  the  Prejudices  of  India,  while 
an  Indian;    I    mean   not   to   be,  or  to  seem 

200 


LETTERS 

guilty  of  any  Pride  or  Vanity  my  dear 
James — when  I  swear  to  you  in  the  open- 
ness of  my  Heart,  that  I've  not  yet  known, 
or  seen  the  Woman  abroad,  whom  I  would 
associate  with  thro'  Choice,  in  preference  to 
being  alone  —  there  may  be  a  thousand 
others,  more  sensible,  or  Amiable,  but  the 
Sense  or  Qualifications,  of  those  I  have  met 
with,  have  had  nothing  in  them  congenial  to 
my  taste  —  and  therefore  we  only  associate 
in  the  formal  way;  this  I  am  sorry  for — 
for  I  love  the  Company  of  my  own 
sex,  when  they  are  mild.  Ingenuous  & 
devoted  to  Cleanliness — Your  Miss  Bristow, 
I'm  told,  was  an  elegant  Woman — I  fancy 
so — for  she  was  not  liked  Here  and  is 
styled,  by  way  of  Reproach,  the  Reserved  & 
Poetical  Lady  —  she  has  Genius,  I  think, 
for  I  have  seen  some  little  Pieces  of  hers, 
which  abound  with  happy  Thoughts;  and 
her  Enthusiasm  in  matters  of  Love  or 
Friendship,  makes  me  like  her  Character, 
tho'  I  have  never  seen  her  Person  —  I 
wish  she  had  continued  Here — we  should,  I 
think,  have  been  upon  a  good  footing  to- 
gether, for  you  know  my  James,  that  I 
have  none  of  that  narrowness  which  excites 

201 


LETTERS 

to  Envy,  or  Detraction,  at  the  sight  of 
superior  Merit.  I  fear,  poor  Woman,  that 
she  will  not  be  as  happy  as  she  deserves  to 
be,  for  the  man,  she  has  chosen,  by  M'? 
Shaws  Account,  is  a  contemptible  one,  and 
in  wretched  Circumstances,  without  a  pros- 
pect of  Improving  them — She  now,  I  am 
told,  lives  in  the  black  Town  at  Madrass, 
without  Friends,  without  Acquaintances, 
Conveniences,  Notice.  —  Still  —  her  Book, 
and  her  Pen  afford  her  constant  Employ- 
ment— Here  is  a  proof  of  the  Advantages 
of  a  natural  good  Taste,  being  well  culti- 
vated— but  for  the  resources  in  her  own 
mind,  M^?  Tasswell  must  have  sunk  a  prey 
to  affliction — or  been  a  Wretch  indeed — if 
incapable  of  Feeling  what  she  has  ex- 
perienced— for  of  all  Misery,  that  I  think  is 
the  greatest,  which  renders  us  incapable  of 
estimating  our  Blessings — or  misfortunes 
arightly — be  my  Woes  in  Life  what  they 
will,  may  I  never  be  delivered  of  them  at 
so  sad  a  cost  as  inconsiderateness — "I  had 
rather  stand  all  Adventures  with  Religion, 
(even  tho'  I  practised  not  the  Duties  of  it) 
than  Endeavor  to  get  rid  of  the  Thoughts 
of  it   by  Diversion." — M'?  Taswell,   I  hope 

202 


LETTERS 

is  employ'd  in  some  Ingenious  Work, — 
a  Woman  who  writes  well,  cannot  I  be- 
lieve write  too  much,  if  she  neglects  none 
of  the  Duties  of  her  own  sex  to  be  so 
engaged — but  these  are  certainly,  her  first 
concern,  and  these  accomplished — the  more 
she  excels  in,  the  more  she  Evidences  the 
strength  of  her  Genius,  and  that  Economy 
of  Time,  which  it  is  Wisdom,  to  be  an 
Economist  of. — Miss  Shaw,  I  think,  a  whin- 
ing. La  La  Girl — don't  you  think  so  my 
dear  ?  I  am  sorry  if  I  do  her  injustice, 
but  there's  nothing  which  attaches  me  to 
her,  either  in  the  way  of  sentiment,  man- 
ners, or  appearance — for  I  detest  that  cov- 
ert insignificancy,  which  is  comprised  in  the 
appellation  of  good  natured  sort  of  Girls — 
to  me,  it  implies,  that  any  Man  might 
make  a  Fool  of  Her,  who  could  be  satisfied 
with  a  non-resisting  Victory.  M'?  Playdell, 
and  Miss  Harris,  as  I  told  you  by  the 
Hampshire,  remain 'd  at  the  Cape  instead 
of  proceeding  to  Bombay — had  they  come 
here,  I  would  have  shewn  them  all  the 
rites  of  Hospitality  —  Cap^  Taylor,  will  tell 
you  all  you  wish  to  know  relative  to  them 
— the    M":    Gambler  you  mentioned  to  me, 

203 


LETTERS 

at  your  Father's  request  my  dear,  went 
Home  Cap*  Taylors  Passenger,  He  is 
a  fine  Youth,  and  dear  to  me,  and  all  who 
know  Him,  on  the  score  of  his  AVorth, 
strict  Principles,  and  Amiable  Manners  are 
his  real  Characteristicks — I  have  given  him 
a  letter  for  you,  by  way  of  Passport,  to 
your  Notice — He  desired  &  deserves,  it  — 
therefore  I  could  not  refuse  Him — I  fear 
poor  Youth,  We  never  shall  see  Him 
again,  for  the  Disorder  in  his  Neck  (an 
Aneurism)  is  of  too  dangerous  a  nature,  to 
give  sanguine  Hopes  of  his  surviving  the 
necessary  Operation  in  case  He  submits  to 
it — and  if  He  does  not — He  must  never 
more  Visit  India,  as  the  Heat  of  this 
Climate  would  soon  increase  it,  beyond  the 
Power  of  Art  to  reduce  it  or  save  Him. 
Mr  Horsley  too — another  Friend  of  mine,  I 
have  desired  MT  James,  to  interest  himself, 
in  obtaining  your  smiles,  and  good  Graces 
for  —  I  know  not  that  you'll  like  Him 
at  first,  I  rather  think  not — for  He's  re- 
served, and  has  none  of  that  Easy  Address, 
which  Impresses  People  Agreably  at  first 
sight,  but  He  has  one  of  the  clearest 
Heads,   my  James,  that  I  ever  knew,  added 

204 


LETTERS 

to  which  a  correctness  of  Taste  and  No- 
bleness of  sentiment,  which  does  Honor 
to  the  Manly  Character  —  1  would  not 
Introduce  Him,  to  any  I  loved,  if  I  did 
not  think  their  merit  would  bear  them  out 
— for  the  Creature  is  penetrating,  and  satyr- 
ical — but  you  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
those  Qualities;  for  it's  only  to  Impert- 
inence, Affection,  and  Arrogance,  that  He's 
severe,  to  be  frank  with  you  my  James — 
I  know  not  the  Person  in  India,  I'm  afraid 
of — now  that  He  has  left  it — nor  do  I  know 
the  Man  in  the  World  whose  good  Opinion 
I  would  rather  Insure,  and  that  because — 
He,  amongst  a  thousand  Indians  —  stands 
alone  in  mine,  as  a  Competent  Judge  of 
Merit  of  that  sort,  particularly,  which  adds 
Grace  &  Worth  to  the  Female  Character — 
The  World  says  I  am  a  favorite  with  Him; 
and  I  the  rather  suspect  it,  (tho'  He  has 
said  severer  Things  to  me,  than  Man  before 
Him,  ever  did) — because  He  devoted  much 
of  his  Time  to  me,  and  this,  I  believe,  he 
would  not  have  done,  if  it  had  not  been 
the  result  of  his  free  Choice — for  never 
mortal  was  less  Punctilious — ,  spoke  less 
to  the  sex,  and   more    to    the  Reason,  than 

205 


LETTERS 

He    did,   when   once    Interested    enough    to 
speak  his  real   sentiments,  to    any    Woman. 
—  I  think  Horsley   altogether,  a    very  great 
Character — He  has  a  thousand   singularities, 
a   thousand   Faults — but    they    are   infinitely 
overbalanced    by    one    of    the    most    active 
Minds,    and    Generous    Hearts   that    ever    I 
knew  Inhabit  a  human   Frame — I   give  you 
all  these  Lights  into  his  Character,  in  order 
that    you    may    manage    with    Him    accord- 
ingly,  for  I  wish   those   I  love,    to   be  liked 
by   the  Discerning   &    Worthy, —  if  James, 
admits   him    to    any    degree   of  Intimacy  in 
your    Family  —  make    him   read    Poetry    to 
you  my  dear — his  manner  of  doing  it   will 
charm  you  —  and   yet  the    Creature    has    no 
more  notion  of  music  than  I  have  of  Alge- 
bra— this    has    often    puzzled    me  —  such    a 
Judge    of    Harmony — and    yet    no    taste    in 
fine    sounds;    I   declare  to   you  that   I   have 
been  quite  mortified,    when   I,   who  think   I 
may  pretend  to  some  little  merit  as  to   Ear 
&    Voice,    have    aimed    at   doing    justice    to 
Poetry,  and  could  not  please  myself  for  my 
Life,    when    upon    consigning    the    Book    to 
Him — He  has  exactly  hit  the  modulation  & 
manner  I  in  vain  wished  to  compass, — and 

206 


LETTERS 

yet  his  natural  Voice  is  almost  as  defective, 
as  his  Judgment  in  music. — but  enough  of 
Him,  after  telling  you,  that  He  visits  Eng- 
land on  the  score  of  extreme  bad  Health, 
(indeed  He  has  gone  thro'  enough  to  kill 
forty  Giants  in  this  Country)  and  will  in  all 
probability  be  obliged  to  continue  there  for 
some  Years,  before  he  has  the  confirmed 
Health,  He  once  possessed. — /  cannot  my 
dear,  send  you  the  six  hundred  Rupees  I 
received  from  Colonel  Campbell  for  the  use 
of  the  Sternes  by  this  ship,  as  none  but 
Company's  servants  are  allowed  Bills  on  the 
Company,  on  their  own  Account.  —  M'"  D. 
cannot  swear,  that  this  money  is  his  own 
Property  —  however,  I  account  to  you  or 
them  for  it  with  Interest — and  if  this  Re- 
striction as  to  Bills,  is  not  taken  off  by  the 
Mocha  ship,  I  will  lay  out  the  money 
in  Pearl  (as  that  I  am  told  sells  advantage- 
ously in  England,  Very  much  so  at  present) 
and  send  it  by  Cap*  Jones,  or  somebody 
for  their  use;  and  by  such  means,  they  can 
in  no  way  be  losers,  and  I  hope  it  will  be 
no  Inconvenience  to  them,  to  wait  a  few 
months  longer  for  it,  then  I  wished  them 
to    do  —  as    I     imagine    their    Expectations 

20T 


LETTERS 

from    me,    must   have    ceased,  with  the  last 
Bill,     I    transmitted    to    England.  —  O    my 
dear  Friend  for  God  sake,  pay  them  all  the 
money   of  mine  in  your    Hands  —  would    it 
were     twice     as    much  I      the    Ring    too    is 
much  at  M^^  Sternes  service  —  as  should   be 
every    thing    I    have    in    the    world,    rather 
than  I  would  freely  owe  the  shaddow  of  an 
obligation  to   Her. — You    say    my    dear,  in 
your  letter  of  May   29*^   1771,    dated    from 
Eltham — "  I    hope   my    Lydia's    Letter   did 
'  not  give  you   pain,  perhaps  not    Pleasure, 
'  but     you     must     make     some    allowance, 
'  for  she  loves  her  Mother,  who   really  is  a 
'  good    Woman  —  and    even    the    Proposal 
'  however     kind    the     Intention    in    having 
'  Lydia  live  with  you,  yet  the  taking  from 
'  M^?     Sterne     her    only     Child,     and    only 
'  Comfort,    and    taking    no    notice    of    the 
'  Mother,   was  rather  ill  timed  in   my  Eliza 
'and  threw  some   difficulties  in   my   way" 
— Miss  Sternes  Letter  did  indeed   my   dear, 
give  me  a  great  deal  of  pain  —  it   was   such 
a   one,  as    I   by  no   means    deserved,  in  an- 
swer  to    one    wrote    in    the    true    spirit    of 
kindness,    however  it  might  have   been   con- 
strued.— MT    Sterne  had  repeatedly  told  me, 

208 


LETTERS 

that  his  Daughter  was  as  well  acquainted 
with  my  Character,  as  he  was  with  my 
appearance — in  all  his  letters,  wrote  since 
my  leaving  England,  this  Circumstance  is 
much  dwelt  upon  —  another  too,  that  of 
M""?  Sternes  being  in  too  precarious  a  state 
of  health,  to  render  it  probable  that  she 
would  survive  many  months  —  her  violence 
of  Temper  (indeed  James  I  wish  not  to 
recriminate  or  be  severe  just  now)  and  the 
hatefulness  of  her  Character  are  strongly 
urged  to  me,  as  the  Cause  of  his  Indifferent 
Health,  the  whole  of  his  Misfortunes,  and 
the  Evils  that  would  probably  shorten  his 
Life — the  Visit  M""^  Sterne  meditated  some 
time  Antecedent  to  his  Death,  he  most 
pathetically  lamented,  as  an  adventure  that 
would  wound  his  Peace,  and  greatly  embar- 
rass his  Circumstances,  the  former  on  ac- 
count of  the  Eye  Witness  He  should  be, 
to  his  Childs  Affections  having  been  Alien- 
ated from  Him  by  the  Artful  Misrepre- 
sentations of  her  Mother,  under  whose 
Tutorage  she  had  ever  been — and  the  latter, 
from  the  kapacity  of  her  Disposition — for 
well  do  1  know  say's  He, — "that  the  sole 
*'  Intent     of    her     visit     is     to     plague     & 

209 


LETTERS 

**  fleece  me — had  I  money  enough,  I  would 
**  buy  off  this  Journey,  as  I  have  done  sev- 
*  *  eral  others  —  but  till  my  sentimental  work 
'  *  is  published,  I  shall  not  have  a  single 
"sous  more  than  will  Indemnify  People 
"for  my  immediate  Expences. "  Soon  after 
the  receipt  of  this  Intelligence  I  heard  of 
Yoricks  Death,  the  very  first  ship  which 
left  us  afterwards,  I  wrote  to  Miss  Sterne 
by  and  with  all  the  freedom  which  my  In- 
timacy with  her  Father  &  his  Communica- 
tions warranted. — I  purposely  avoided  speak- 
ing of  her  Mother  for  I  knew  nothing  to 
her  Advantage — and  I  had  heard  a  great  deal 
to  the  reverse — So  circumstanced — ,  How 
could  I  with  any  kind  of  Delicacy  mention 
a  Person,  who  was  hateful  to  my  departed 
Friend,  when  for  the  sake  of  that  very 
friend — I  wished  to  confer  a  kindness  on  his 
Daughter  —  and  to  enhance  the  value  of  it, 
— solicited  her  society,  &  consent  to  share 
my  Prospects,  as  the  highest  Favor  which 
could  be  shewn  to  myself? — indeed  I  knew 
not,  but  M!^  Sterne,  from  the  Description  I 
had  received  of  her,  might  be  no  more — or 
privately  confined,  if  in  Being,  owing  to  a 
Malady,  which  I've  been  told  the  Violence 

210 


LETTERS 

of  her  temper  subjects  her  to.  You  my 
dear,  knew  nothing  of  the  Ladies  at  this 
time — my  letter  of  Invitation  was  sent  be- 
fore I  received  your's  urging  the  necessity 
of  their  circumstances — and  the  worthiness  of 
their  Characters  —  but  can  they  be  thus 
worthy,  when  so  ready  to  take  part  against 
a  stranger — tho'  that  Stranger  is  the  friend 
of  a  woman  they  profess  to  Esteem  & 
admire,  &  has  ever  had  the  Advantage  of 
being  described  by  her  in  an  Amiable  light? 
Non  Credo!  The  Intention,  ought  in  all 
Causes,  my  James,  to  sanctify  the  Act, 
where  the  kindness  of  the  One  is  visible, 
and  the  propriety  of  the  other,  nothing 
worse  than  doubtful — and  so  it  ever  will 
my  dear  to  benevolent  Natures.  Miss 
Sterne,  in  her  letter,  tells  me — that  her 
Father  did  sometimes  misrepresent  her  mother y 
in  order  to  justify  his  neglect  of  her — I  do 
not  think  highly  of  a  Daughter,  who  could 
compliment  a  living  Parent,  however  justly 
at  the  expence  of  a  Deceased  one  —  but  as 
this  was  Miss  Sternes  opinion  —  she  might 
in  common  justice  to  have  supposed  that 
M"^?  Sterne  had  been  misrepresented  to  me, 
this    would    have    accounted   for  my  silence 

2l\ 


LETTERS 

on  the  subject  &  clearly  evinced  that  I 
could  not  mean  any  kind  of  Disrespect  to 
herself  or  mother  by  not  naming  her  in 
my  letter  of  Invitation  —  indeed  my  dear 
—  so  far  from  it  —  that  my  silence  on 
the  subject,  as  I've  hinted  before,  only 
proceeded  from  a  Delicacy  w'ch  is 
natural  to  me,  when  I  either  wish  or 
men  to  speak  to  the  affections — I  have 
been  strangely  deceived  in  Miss  Sternes — 
or  she  never  could  have  preverted  my  senti- 
ments so  much  as  to  suppose  I  did  her  an 
Injury,  in  addressing  her  as  a  kindred  Spirit, 
and  with  all  the  freedom  I  could  wish  to 
subsist  between  myself  and  a  sister  of  my 
Heart — the  circumstance  in  particular,  which 
you  allude  to  was  such  as  would  of  itself, 
have  given  me  some  reputation  in  the  Eyes 
of  Discerning  and  kind  Sensibility!  conse- 
quently it  ought  not  to  have  obstructed 
your  progress  in  my  favor — nor  would  it 
my  James — Excuse  me — if  these  Rivals  of 
mine  in  your  friendship  had  been  half  as 
deserving,  as  your  absent  Eliza — I  cannot 
account  for  M^^  Sterne's  pique  towards  me 
from  that,  (as  it  proved)  unfortunate  letter 
— not  on  any  one  principle  of  Goodness,  my 

21? 


LETTERS 

dear,  can  I  account  for  it — for  however  the 
Woman  might  have  been  displeased,  at  my 
supposed  shght  of  her,  the  Mother  I  think, 
must  have  pleaded  well  for  me,  in  a 
kind  maternal  breast  —  as  she  must  have 
been  sensible  that  I  meant  affectionate 
services  to  her  Child,  however  I'd  failed 
in  the  Punctilo's  due  to  herself,  and  that 
fond  sensations,  in  such  a  Cause,  must  be 
lukewarm  indeed  in  that*  could  not  counter- 
act the  effects  of  Caprice — Reason,  she  had 
none,  to  be  angry  with  me,  knowing  that 
my  sole  knowledge  of  her  was  derived  from 
Yoricks  Communications  —  and  that  such, 
were  not  of  the  favorable  sort — I  believed 
Sterne  implicitly,  I  believed  him!  /  had 
no  Motive  to  do  otherwise  than  believe  him 
just,  generous  S^  unhappy  —  till  his  Death 
gave  me  to  know,  that  he  was  tainted  with 
the  Vices  of  Injustice,  Meanness  &^  Folly. 
Nothing  had  ever  offered  to  remove  my 
prejudice  against  the  Widows  Character — 
till  your  assurances  made  me  wish  to  be 
divested  of  it  —  Why  then  angry  with  me 
for  a  slight,  which  had  it's  foundation  in 
real     Propriety     when     the     very     Proposal 

*  For  the  meaning  of  the  sentence,  substitute  if  they  for  in  that. 

213 


LETTERS 

which  Accompanied  it,  ought  to  have  acted 
as  a  sponge  on  that,  and  a  thousand  such 
trivial  offences,  if  I  had  been  guilty  of 
them?  why?  me! — why — I'll  tell  you  my 
Dear — because  such  Commentations  on  the 
beauty  of  a  good  Action  —  are  like  those 
Pretenders  to  science,  who  viewing  a  fine 
Poem,  Statue,  piece  of  Architecture,  or 
Painting,  have  not  latitude  of  mind  enough, 
to  comprehend  the  whole  beauty  of  the  De- 
sign, but  enough  of  Presumtion  to  censure 
a  Line — a  Toe,  a  Pillar,  or  single  error  of  the 
Pencil;  if  any  of  these  vary  in  the  smallest 
degree  from  the  Rules  of  Art — Science  may 
be  Taught,  and  so  may  good  breeding.  Taste, 
Worth  and  Genius  must  be  innate — to  fill 
the  Graceful,  whether  in  Still  or  Active  Life. 
— A  Connoisseur  in  either,  will  refer  to  the 
Plan,  in  preference  to  seeking  those  Minute 
Blemishes,  from  w'ch  the  finest  Models  are 
not  wholly  exempt — and  if  all  is  fair,  and 
well  proportioned  There,  He  with  pleasure 
fixes  his  Eye  on  it  as  the  Grand  object 
worthy  his  Attention,  in  the  way  of  Praise 
&  Criticisms.  And  thus,  I  should  have  sup- 
posed, a  Widow  &  Daughter  of  the  Senti- 
mental Yorick,  capable  of  acting  upon  every 

2U 


LETTERS 

occasion,  in  which  it  was  given  them  to  dis- 
tinguish sterling  merit  from  the  false — for 
such  I  call  every  species  of  good  Breeding, 
in  some  Cases,  when  Generosity,  and  Deli- 
cacy are  principally  requisite — I  would  en- 
gage, in  a  twelvemonth,  to  train  any  Girl 
of  moderate  abilities,  to  all  the  necessary 
Forms,  and  peculiar  Etiquettes  of  genteel 
Behaviour  —  but  I  would  not  engage  to 
make  her  capable  of  reaching  one  Generous 

Thought 'tis  no  hard  matter,    "to  dwell 

in  Decency's  forever" — those  who  find  Vir- 
tue painful, — have  endeavor'd,  and  succeeded 
in  it  —  I  should  not  have  imagined,  that 
M^^  &  Miss  Sterne  needed  to  have  been 
told,  there  were  greater  Wants,  than  what 
result 'd  from  an  Ignorance  of,  or  Defect  in 
mere  Ceremonies — these  have  their  use,  no 
Doubt — and  I  can  admire  them  as  much  as 
any  Body  in  Dissipated  Life,  where  nothing 
superior  to  Amusing  the  Imagination,  is  I 
suppose  aimed  at  tho'  serious  consequences 
do  sometimes  happen  from  our  frequenting 
such  scenes — but  I  should  form  a  very  queer 
opinion  of  a  Friend — or  Stranger,  who  had 
it  in  their  Power  to  oblige  me — Meant  to 
do  so — and  either  tete  a  tete,  or  by  Letter 

215 


LETTERS 

— prefaced  the  Intention  with  the  Flatteries 
agreable  enough  in  a  Rout  Room  —  any 
fashionable  Circle  or  Epistle  Dedicatory — 
for  there,  they  are  common,  and  one  natu- 
rally expects  to  find  'em.  Any  species  of 
Civility,  I  could  have  exerted  towards  M^^ 
Sterne,  in  the  Crisis  you  know  of,  would 
have  been  just  as  ill-timed.  Complaisance, 
if  not  something  more  hyperbolical — for  I 
certainly  entertained  a  most  unfavorable 
opinion  of  her — and  thought  I  paid  a  high 
Compliment  to  her  Delicacy  in  forbearing 
to  speak  of  her  at  all — as  my  Imagination 
suggested  nothing  good — and  to  profess  a 
liking  or  solicitude  about  Persons,  or  Things, 
I  am  no  way  interested  about — it's  what  I 
cannot  do,  my  dear  James — Nor  do  I  Honor 
Those  who  Can — A  few  words  more,  of  the 
Widow  &  Daughter,  and  then  I  hope  to 
have  done  with  the  subject — when  I  think 
of  Miss  Sternes  reply,  to  a  letter  replete 
with  kindness — for  such  I  am  sure  it  was, 
because  such,  I  meant  it  should  be  —  and 
the  Mother  starting  any  difficulties  to  oblige 
me  in  a  Point  I  had  much  at  Heart — be- 
cause I  had  neglected  a  mere  Ceremony — 
which   in   my   Case — could  have  meant  just 

216 


LETTERS 

nothing  at  all  at  the  very  best — I  can,  and 
do  pronounce  from  my  very  soul — that  I 
think  them  as  unworthy  my  Friendship — 
as  any  two  Persons,  I  know,  or  ever  yet 
heard  of — and  it  does  indeed,  wound  both 
my  Pride,  and  Love,  that  the  Woman  in 
Life,  I  most  Value — should  bring  them  into 
Competition  with  myself,  when  she  names 
me  as  her  Friend — her  dear  Eliza. — I  hate 
Competitions  in  Love,  or  Friendship;  and 
am  not  more  Jealous  in  the  one  Case,  than 
in  the  other — but  you  my  dear  James,  have 
nothing  to  apprehend,  on  the  score  of  this 
Passion,  for  it  is  of  that  quiet  sort  which 
can  offend  nobody,  or  prey  on  anything  but 
my  own  Peace — I  do  not  love  easily — but 
my  Affections  once  given — and  they  are  irre- 
coverable, whether  treated  with  the  Distinc- 
tion they  Merit  or  not — I  have  no  Idea  of 
loving  any  two  Friends  equally,  or  indeed 
with  the  same  species  of  Affection,  My, 
Heart,  naturally  forms  an  Election  —  and 
would  I  think  —  sooner  break,  than  suffer 
the  Preference  due  to  that  Choice,  to  be  at 
all  Infringed  upon — Esteem — Complacency — 
it  doubtless  would  ever  be  susceptible  of, 
where   the   worthy   were   to   be   found;    and 

217 


LETTERS 

different   degrees   of    these    Qualities   as   the 
Objects    were    more    or    less    Amiable  —  or 

peculiarly   circumstanced but  one   Friend 

in  the  Emphatical  Sense  of  the  Word — and 
one  Love  together  with  the  Relations  aris- 
ing from  that  union — are  I  think — sufficient 
to  engross  the  whole  serious  affections  of 
any  one  Woman — and  where  they  do  not, 
they  are  not  the  friend  or  Lover,  I  could 
wish  to  be,  or  to  be  thought  capable  of  be- 
ing for  which  I  give  AIL  1  think,  I  think 
my  James — I  have  a  right  to  expect  recip- 
rocal affection — at  least  nothing  less,  I  am 
sure  would  gratify  my  Pride,  or  satisfy  my 
Love — but  in  opinions  of  this  sort — I — per- 
haps ;  consult  a  very  improper  Standard — 
tho'  a  very  natural  one — in  appealing  to  my 
own  Heart — for  that  has  ever  deceived  me 
in  the  judgment  I  have  formed  of  other 
Peoples  —  still,  I  must  refer  to  it  —  for  I 
know  of  no  other  Rule  and  Measure,  that 
is  not  equally — if  not  more  liable,  to  mis- 
lead me — and  I  believe  it's  better  to  suffer 
occasionally  by  the  fallibility  of  what's  well 
known  to  us — than  trust  to  chance  for  our 
Success  —  by  having  recourse  to  foreign 
Expedients — I    blame    not   a   good   Man   or 

318 


LETTERS 

Woman,  for  having  a  sincere  regard  &  even 
Friendship  for  a  bad  person  for  such  Things 
are  Possible — for  They  have  been — but  I  do 
extremely  blame  or  pity,  any  Person  who 
having  elected  another  to  be  the  chosen 
partner  of  their  Heart  —  can  yet  suffer  a 
second  or  third,  to  dispute  the  preference  & 
Privileges  only  due  to  the  First — the  Thing 
could  never  be,  my  James — if  that  one,  had 
been  loved  with  genuine  warmth,  as  well  as 
Distinction — for  it  is  just  as  natural  for  us 
to  distinguish  between  Character,  as  Faces — 
no  two  of  which  could  ever  be  proved  alike 
— and  choice  is  never  I  believe  neutral  in 
such  Cases — it  naturally  points  to  the  one 
in  preference  to  the  other  tho'  not  always 
to  the  best — still  there  is  a  necessity  for  it's 
choosing  for  itself  for  it  will  not  be  con- 
troul'd,  and  where  that's  the  case,  'tis  wis- 
dom to  give  it  scope — by  aiming  to  direct 
it  only — We  may  break  the  force  of  the 
Distemper's  by  eluding  them,  but  in  no 
other  way  can  we  restrain  it's  Powers — I 
once  had  a  sincere  affection  for  a  sweet 
pretty  French  Woman — Young,  lively,  ten- 
der, sensible,  and  happily  married — she  saw 
the    earnestness    I    felt    to    please    her  —  and 

219 


LETTERS 

justified  my  partiality  in  her  favor  by  dis- 
claiming any  Title  to  it — as  her  heart  was 
too  much  engrossed  by  her  Husband,  and 
an  Italian  Cousin  to  do  justice  to  the 
sensibility  of  Mine — "My  dear  Eliza — said 
she — I  see  you  are  fondly  disposed  to  like 
me  above  any  other  Person  —  (this  vras 
true)  —  I  feel  grateful  for  this  preference 
for  it  does  me  Honor,  from  a  Mind  so 
Ingenuous  and  capable  of  Refinement  (so 
she  was  pleased  to  say)  as  Yours — but  my 
dear  Girl — I  will  have  nothing  more  than 
your  Esteem,  in  common  with  other  agre- 
able  Women,  for  nothing  more,  can  I  give 
you,  of  myself — and  I  should  be  guilty  of 
the  highest  injustice,  if  I  encouraged  in  you 
a  hope,  that  I  could  be  your  Friend,  in 
mine,  &  your  sense  of  the  word  —  'tis 
impossible  my  Eliza  —  for  I  have  from 
Infancy,  been  tenderly  attached  to  a  sweet 
Woman  on  the  other  side  of  the  Alps — 
and  my  Husband,  is  almost  the  Object 
of  my  Adoration — These  two  possess  my 
whole  Heart — It  has  no  room  for  other 
Objects — Esteem,  Complacency,  Generosity, 
Humanity  &  Civility  —  are  qualities  the 
World    has    a    right    to  —  these,    I    can    be- 

220 


LETTERS 

stow  occasionally;  but  these  constitute  not 
the  whole  of  Friendship,  tho'  they  are  ab- 
solutely requisite  to  the  Formation  of  it — 
Your  notions  My  Dear,  are  just  as  Deli- 
cate as  my  Own  —  Your  heart  is  equally 
tender — and  your  first  Regards  will  be  a 
prize  to  any  Person,  capable  of  deserving 
them;  reserve  them,  my  dear,  for  some 
amiable  woman  unfetter' d  by  what  the 
World  calls  friends,  or  unclogged  by  sisters, 
and  she  will  do  justice  to  your  Preference — 
1  cannot — for  I  cannot  give  you  mine,  tho' 
I  think  you  worthy  of  it — and  without  a 
mutual  feeling  in  such  Cases  no  Commerce 
of  the  kind,  was  ever  durable  or  Happy — " 
I  admired  M":^  Martaigne,  for  her  Ingen- 
uousness, but  I  had  not  the  better  opinion 
of  her  sensibility,  or  Generosity  for  harang- 
uing me  thus  —  and  so  I  told  her  —  She 
always  answered  my  objections,  with  that 
kindness  and  good  sense,  which  were  natural 
to  her  —  but  never  thought  of  me  I  believe 
with  any  thing  more  than  a  transient  emo- 
tion of  good  Will,  when  I  was  out  of  her 
Presence  —  this  sorely  afflicted  me,  for  I 
would  have  abandon 'd  anything  understood 
by  the   word    Diversion,  to   have   been   two 

221 


LETTERS 

Hours  in  her  Company — and  I  could  not 
bear  to  think  that  I  should  be  always 
desirous  of  associating  with  her — without 
her  seeming  to  think  my  society  either  an 
addition  or  Dimunition  to  her  satisfaction — 
I  once  complain'd  of  this  —  and  before  her 
husband — with  all  the  Pathos  I  was  mis- 
tress of.  She  heard  me  with  the  greatest 
sweetness — and  never  once  Interrupted  me, 
tho'  I  was  more  vehement  than  was  recon- 
ciliable  to  good  manners — but  the  Truth 
was — that  I  was  mortified,  at  feeling  my 
own  Insignificancy  before  the  most  Amiable 
Couple,  I  knew  in  the  World. — *'  Where 
situations  in  Life  are  not  similar  —  and 
minds  have  the  same  good  Propensities 
(said  the  charming  Janatone) — there  always 
must  be  some  degree  of  Doubt  and 
Chagrin  in  the  suffering  Party — had  you 
my  Eliza,  been  happily  married — tenderly 
connected  with  one  of  your  own  sex — and 
enjoyed  all  the  advantages  [of]  liberal  Edu- 
cation, as  I  have  done — You,  like  me, 
would  have  had,  your  whole  stock  of  affec- 
tion occupied  by  two  Persons  —  &  then  my 
dear,  you  had  been  a  happy  Woman  — 
for    both     Martaigne     &     myself,     have     a 


LETTERS 

thousand  times  remark 'd  that  We  never  in 
our  Various  Wanderings,  met  with  an  un- 
cultivated Creature,  so  much  indebted  to 
Nature,  for  every  good  affection  of  the 
Heart. — Your  affections,  now  my  dear,  are 
diffused. — You  know  not  the  strength  of 
them — Mine  are  collected  as  in  a  Focus — 
to  make  use  of  a  Term  of  science — and 
that  Circumstance,  together  with  the  Hap- 
piness of  my  Destiny  in  having  chosen  well 
— is  all  the  superiority  I  can  boast  over 
you — My  Lover  (pointing  to  Martaigne) 
who  is  a  Philosopher  has  made  human 
nature  his  study  —  can  explain  to  you  why 
it's  impossible — that  even  a  good  Amiable 
Woman  should  do  justice  to  more  than 
the  Claims  of  a  Husband  Friend,  and  a 
female  one — the  rest  of  the  World — I  own 
to  you,  my  sensible  Girl,  are  nothing  to  me 
in  comparison  of  these,  but  that  I  have  not 
Penetration  enough  to  see  merit  in  Various 
Characters — but  I  certainly  have  not  mate- 
rials to  reward  it,  in  more  than  my  stated 
number  —  did  the  Fancy  of  doing  so  occur 
to  me — I  must  to  accomplish  it — take  from 
those  I  am  bound  to,  by  every  tye  of 
Love,  Gratitude  &   Sympathy  —  and  then  I 


LETTERS 

might  cease  to  promote  the  Happiness  of 
those  Persons  who  now  constitute  the  sole 
Value  of  mine,  (for  Lovers  &;  Friends  are 
jealous  of  Competition,  and  they  are  right 
to  be  so,  as  the  Principal  worth  of  their 
privileges  is  derived,  from  there  being  Their 
privileges  only,)  and  I  will  not  risque  it, 
why  should  I  ?  for  what  ?  to  pursue,  and 
accomplish  another  Happiness  ?  I  am  con- 
tented with  that  I  possess,  and  well  I  may 
[be] — Merit  even,  is  not  always  so  rewarded 
— and  I  have  no  Idea,  of  any  Felicity  on 
Earth,  superior  to  what  I  now  experience — 
I  have  been  taught  to  think  —  &  I  truly 
believe  it  —  that  a  Woman,  however  capa- 
cious her  mind  —  and  Amiable  her  manners 
— has  but  such  a  Portion  of  Worth  as  En- 
ables her  to  fill  the  Duties  of  her  Station 
well — and  if  her  Destiny  subjects  her  to 
a  Worthy  Partner  in  Life,  He  &  his,  espe- 
cially with  the  Addition  of  a  female  Friend, 
offer  scope  enough,  for  the  Exertion  of  all 
her  Talents  &  good  Propensities,  be  they 
ever  so  numerous,  and  endearing — And  it 
is  a  Maxim  with  me,  from  which  I  believe, 
I  never  shall  depart — that  where  a  Married 
Woman,  evinces  a  desire  to  please  the  other 

224 


LETTERS 

Sex — &  professes  attachments  to  many,  or 
more  than  one  Individual  of  her  own — that 
she  has,  either  been  unfortunate  in  her 
Choice — or  has  not  those  Quahties,  which 
could  enable  her  to  fulfill  the  great  Duties, 
of  Love  &  Friendship  fitly  &  Handsomely." 
— How  like  you,  the  Sentiments  of  M^^ 
Martaigne  my  dear  James — ?  Whether  it 
was  that  her  Person  &  Manner,  gave  Ad- 
vantages to  Them,  or  that  they  really  made 
a  Strong  Impression  on  me  from  the  Pro- 
priety of  Them,  I  know  not;  but  in  my 
Life,  I  never  felt  so  strong  a  Disposition 
to  believe  a  Woman.  She  often  told  me, 
that  she  was  unworthy  the  Love  of  such 
a  heart  as  mine,  because  she  could  not 
return  it— Respect  for  her  Memory  k  fre- 
quent recollections  of  her  Various  Excel- 
lencies, is  now  all  that  remains  with  me 
relative  to  the  Lovely  Janatone;  for  she 
died  three  years  ago  —  after  surviving  her 
Husband  about  a  week  and  her  Friend  a 
twelvemonth — What  had  such  a  Woman  to 
do  in  Life  after  the  survival  of  her  best 
affections?  Unless  indeed  as  an  Example  to 
all  others,  how  they  should  grieve  upon 
such    Disastrous   Circumstances knowing 

225 


LETTERS 

her,  as  I  did,  I  was  not  sorry  to  hear  of 
her  Releasement  so  soon  after  the  Death  of 
Martaigne  —  Charming,  Happy  Couple  !  I 
have  enthusiasm  enough  to  wish  to  under- 
take a  Journey  into  Italy,  for  the  pleasure 
of  Weeping  over  their  Tomb  Stone — and 
think  the  Sad  Luxury,  would  Administer, 
more  to  my  Happiness;  than  half  the  Pur- 
suits, which  the  World  styles  Pleasant  —  I 
never  shall  contemplate,  their  Like  again — 
Sense,  Wit,  Literature,  All  the  Manly  Ac- 
complishments &  Graces,  were  his! — Beauty, 
Softness,  and  every  feminine  Virtue  Hers! — 
Their  Story  was  Romantic — their  Life  Pleas- 
ant, and  their  Deaths  I  doubt  not  most 
Happy! — You  may  have  heard  me  speak 
of  them,  before — but  never  with  so  much 
Explicitness  —  I  had  my  reasons  for  being 
reserved  on  the  subject — They  were  in  Eng- 
land when  I  left  it — but  quite  Incognito — 
MT  Sterne  Introduced  me  to  their  Notice — 
the  most  Agreable  Service,  He  ever  did  me 
— for  till  I  saw  Madame  de  Martaigne — I 
never  saw  the  Character,  who  came  up  to 
my  Ideas  of  Female  Beauty  &  Worth — till 
I  knew  her  Husband — I  never  conceived  it 
possible  for  a  Man  to  please  a  whole  Life — 

226 


L  E  T  TE  R  S 

without  the  least  Apprehension  of  Indiffer- 
ence or  Satiety!  Excuse  this  Elogium  in 
their  Praise  to  you  my  dear  James,  tho' 
you  knew  them  not  —  You  would  have 
loved,  as  much  as  I  admired  Them — and 
joined  your  Tears  with  mine,  for  the  Loss 
of  Persons  so  Amiably  distinguished — this 
subject  has  such  hold  of  me,  that  I  cannot 
readily  quit  it — and  therefore  I'll  indulge 
the  Penserozo  Humours,  by  telling  you  a 
couple  of  little  anecdotes,  as  such  matters 
often  give  a  better  Insight  into  Character, 
than  all  the  great  Outlines — Upon  reading 
Lord  Lyttletons  Monody,  on  the  Death  of 
his  Lucy — she  used  to  wish  that  Martaigne 
had  wrote,  and  that  she  had  been  the  sub- 
ject— declaring,  that  to  be  so  lamented — she 
would  consent  to  dye,  and  that  with  Pleas- 
ure— Westminster  Abbey,  was  her  favorite 
Scene  of  Amusement — Contemplation  rather 
— on  account  of  a  Monument  there  inscribed 
to  the  Memory  of  a  MT^  Nightingale,  you 
may  have  noticed  it,  as  it  is  a  very  Singu- 
lar one,  and  well  Executed — Death  is  stalk- 
ing out  of  a  Cavern — Aims  his  Dart  at  a 
Woman — and  her  Husband  Endeavors  to 
repel     the     Stroke,    with    an    Anxiety    and 

227 


LETTERS 

Terror    in    his    Countenance,  more    Easy    to 

conceive    than    describe  —  M^^    M never 

passed  the  Abbey  if  alone,  but  she  called  to 
look  at  this  Monument — often  went  there, 
from  a  very  distant  part  of  the  Town,  on 
no  other  Errand — and  never  saw  it  I  be- 
lieve, but  it  cost  her  more  Tears,  than  the 
deepest  wrote  Tragedy  would  have  done. 
She  used  to  say — that  Octavia  was  the  first 
of  all  female  Characters  in  Ancient  History 
— and  that  Marc  Anthony  deserved  to  lose 
the  World,  for  his  insensibility  to  the  Vir- 
tues of  such  a  wife,  rather  than  for  attach- 
ing himself  to  a  Cleopatra — Prior  of  all  our 
English  Poets,  was  her  Favorite — and  his 
Nut  brown  Maid,  her  Theme  of  Admiration 
whenever  it  was  named  —  Solomons  Egyp- 
tian, was  a  grand  Favorite  with  her  — 
especially  when  she  returned  the  Proffer' d 
Wreath — afterwards,  indeed,  the  Girl  talked 
too  much — but  altogether,  she  behaved  no- 
bly— now  poor  Afra,  /  think,  was  not  inferior 
to  her — and  deserved  a  better  fate  than  she 
met  with — read  the  second  book  of  Priors 
Solomon  my  dear,  if  it  is  not  familiar  to 
you,  in  order  that  you  may  form  a  judg- 
ment  of    her    taste,    from    the    above    speci- 

228 


LETTERS 

men  of  it — You  will  find  it  in  the  Second 
Volume  of  his  Works — but  I'll  give  you 
no  more  of  her  Criticisms — for  if  I  was  to 
recollect  the  whole  of  them,  I  should  fill  a 
Volume,  and  the  above  are  sufficient,  to 
give  you  an  Idea  of  her  sensibility  and 
Taste — I  know  not  how  other  People  might 
be  affected  by  these  Traits  in  a  Character — 
but  I  know,  I  cannot  think  of  them,  with- 
out an  Emotion  which  is  pleasing  to  me, 
because  it  flatters  me  with  the  notion  of 
some  worth,  as  I  cannot  foresee  other  bene- 
fit from  it,  than  what  arises  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  tender  sensibility — and  that 
is  in  Fact — all,  in  all — tho'  the  World  is 
too  often  pleased  to  Judge  otherwise.  I 
thank  you  my  dear,  and  with  all  my  Heart 
for  the  Explicitness  you  have  used  as  to 
Betsey's  *  situation — she  is  now  I  hope  at 
M^^  Terry's — if  you  remember  my  Dear, 
you  recommended  this  school  to  me  when 
I  was  in  England — and  a  twelvemonth  ago, 
I  desired  MP  Whitehillt  to  remove  her  from 
Newington  to  Kensington — and  I  shall  insist 
on  the  Circumstance  of  her   sleeping   in   an 

*A  daughter  to  the  Drapers, 
t  Probably  an  aunt  to  Mrs.  Draper. 

229 


LETTERS 

Airy  Room,  unincumber'd  with  scholars, 
tho'  the  Price  of  her  SchooHng  should  be 
greatly  rais'd  by  it  —  as  to  having  her  a 
Parlour  Boarder — I  know  not  what  to  say 
My  James — as  I  cannot  think  more  highly 
of  the  tall  Girls  so  distinguished  than  I  do 
of  the  lesser  Misses,  en  Groupe — in  General 
those  Girls  are  horribly  frivolous,  or  Artful; 
and  1  would  rather  My  Darling  retained 
the  simplicity  of  a  Child,  by  associating 
with  those  of  her  own  Age  only,  than 
acquired  any  of  the  knowledge,  which  Par- 
lour Boarder  Maxims  too  frequently  incul- 
cates—  for  Betsey,  if  I  mistake  not,  has 
much  observation  for  her  Years,  and  would 
soon  from  the  liveliness  of  her  apprehension 
become  a  Proficient  in  all  those  Flirtations  & 
Flippancies  so  commonly  found  in  AVomen 
Girls — I  think,  my  dear,  I  cannot  consent 
to  her  being  a  Parlour  Boarder;  the  increase 
of  Expence  would  weigh  nothing  with  me. 
If  I  thought  it  would  be  for  her  advantage, 
but  as  I  do  not  it  certainly  has  some  weight 
in  the  Scale  of  Objection — I  shall  not  only 
write  to  M':^  Whitehill  about  the  Chamber 
arrangement,  but  to  M'!^  Terry,  enclosing  it 
to  MT^  Whitehill,  and  desiring  her  to  deliver 

230 


LETTERS 

it  or  not  as  she  thinks  it  will  add  force  to 
her  Directions. — I  detest  Boarding  Schools, 
my  James  —  I  know,  from  having  experi- 
enced in  my  own  Case,  how  little  of  the 
Useful  is  to  be  acquired  there  &  I  am 
truely  sensible  of  the  risque  a  Child  runs, 
of  being  ruined  in  Constitution,  &  forever 
Corrupted  in  her  Morals  in  those  Simina- 
ries,  for  in  order  to  secure  both  the  one 
and  the  other,  every  Child  it  associates 
with,  ought  to  be  of  as  Amiable  Propen- 
sities as  itself — and  can  this  be  expected 
when  there  are  fifty  Children,  all  descended 
from  different  Parents,  no  one  of  which 
may  be  like  the  other,  in  either  affections 
humour  or  Blood?  And  who  of  feeling  can 
be  satisfied  to  trust  to  Chance  for  that 
which  is  to  constitute  the  Honor  &  Wel- 
fare, or  disgrace  &  misery  of  a  beloved 
Child?  for  'tis  Certain,  that  the  Principles 
inculcated  in  Youth,  and  confirmed  by 
Habit,  more  or  less  influence  all  our  suc- 
ceeding Actions — k  creates  the  Portion  of 
praise,  or  blame  which  fix's  our  Character 
in  Life.  —  I  have  thought  often,  and  very 
much  on  this  matter,  and  the  more  I  pon- 
der it,  the  more  I  am  convinced  in  my  first 

231 


LETTERS 

particularly  for  an  Home  Education — and  this 
is  one  of  my  grand  Inducements  for  pining 
after  a  reunion  to  my  Child,  for  I  do  think 
my  James,  that  I  am  better  qualified  to  be 
her  Instructress  than  any  other  human  Be- 
ing— and  this,  because  I  am  her  Mother, 
and  as  such  infinitely  more  Interested  in 
her  Welfare  than  any  Friend,  however  cor- 
dial can  be,  for,  on  her  Establishment  in 
Life,  do  I  think  to  found  my  own  Pros- 
pects of  a  Mild  quiet  Evening,  after  a  very 
boistrous  Day — as  such  it  must  be,  if  my 
Autumn,  partakes  of  my  Spring,  &  Sum- 
mers Nature — &  I  have  no  reason  to  expect 
otherwise — Miracles  having  long  since  ceased 
to  Operate — Consequently,  Policy,  as  well  as 
Maternal  Affection  induces  me  to  wish  the 
Cultivation  of  this  Plant  under  my  own 
Eye,  as  so  much,  so  very  much  depends  on 
the  flourishing  of  it — for  I  think  James,  if 
this  poor  Girl,  was  to  prove  unhappy,  or 
worthless,  that  it  would  weigh  me  down 
much  sooner  than  Loads  of  Accumulated 
Affliction  reserved  for  myself  alone  —  or 
Independed  [sic]  of  her  fate — for  with  that, 
is  united  the  future  Chart  of  mine — if  she 
is  deserving  &  Amiable,  I  cannot  be  wholly 

932 


LETTERS 

miserable  —  if  the  reverse  —  which,  Heaven 
forbid !  Not  all  the  Blessings  in  Life — can 
be  superior — to[o]  Tasteless — to  me — for  my 
Ideas  of  Happiness  are  so  Interwoven  with 
those  of  her  good  Destiny,  that  in  Fact, 
they  are  one  &  the  same  —  and  nothing 
more  variable,  than  a  Distinction  in  Terms 
— this  known  to  MT  Draper — and  most  as- 
suredly felt  by  me  with  all  the  Agonies  of 
Doubt  and  longing  Expectation;  I  do  & 
must  wonder — that  He  refuses  the  request 
so  often  made,  that  of  my  going  Home  & 
fixing  this  Object  under  my  own  Protection 
— for  Independant  of  my  Health  —  which 
really  is  Very  precarious — I  live  in  a  man- 
ner, so  utterly  irreconciliable  to  my  own 
good  opinion  in  the  way  of  Delicacy  and 
in  the  Public's  favorable  Eye — that  I  seri- 
ously should  wish  to  leave  India,  if  I  had 
no  other  motive  for  it  than  wishing  to 
change  the  scene  —  but  when  I  take  into 
consideration,  Betseys  Welfare,  (w'ch  I'm 
vain  enough  to  think  is  suffering  by  my 
absence  from  her,  tho'  I've  a  high  opinion 
of  M^3  Whitehill  altogether)  —  my  present 
situation — M^  Drapers  extreme  Indifference 
about    me  —  what    I    may    lose    as    to    my 

@33 


LETTERS 

Childs  Improvements  by  not  visiting  Eng- 
land—  and  the  little  use  there  can  be  to 
any  Person  my  continuing  Here — I  must  & 
do  think  I  am  very  hardly  dealt  with — as  it 
can  only  arise  from  a  notion  very  Injurious 
to  my  Principles — and  as  such,  I  can  and 
do  feel  the  Indignity,  with  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  a  wounded  Spirit — for  I  have  not 
deserved  to  be  thought  ill  of — nor  am  I 
treated,  as  if  I  was  —  when  there's  any 
occasion  for  the  Exertions  of  my  Episto- 
lary talents,  or  Address — I  only  say  this  to 
you  James  —  what  my  Thoughts  are  upon 
such  occasions  I  will  not  say,  tho'  I  am 
confident  that  no  Husband  acts  the  Politic, 
any  more  than  the  Generous  part  by  a 
Woman — when  He  at  times  can  descend  to 
solicit  her  aid — and  at  others,  use  her  with 
unmanly  violence,  lest  a  notion  of  her  own 
superiority  should  induce  her,  to  contemn 
his  Authority — Contemptible  Reasoning!  I 
do  my  James  detest  those  Maxims  of  Rule, 
which  are  founded  on  Sex  alone — and  can 
as  heartily  despise  the  Man  who  has  re- 
course to  Them,  because  He  may,  from 
the  Accidental  Circumstance  of  his  Gender 
alone.  —  In    Marriage,    as,    the   most   serious 

234 


LETTERS 

of  all  social  Compacts — all  people  ought  I 
think  to  determine  on  living  well  together, 
whether  seduced  into  it  by  Love,  or  the 
Prospect  of  Convenience  —  at  least,  I'm 
moved  to  Wonder  when  sensible  Indi- 
viduals don't  plan  ingenuously  &  act  con- 
formably to  it,  in  every  Thing  which  re- 
gards their  mutual  Interest,  for  as  to  sepa- 
rate there's  no  such  Thing  between  People 
of  Morals  &c  good  Judgment,  when  they  are 
once  fated  to  pass  their  lives  together. — 
Children — their  mutual  Interest  in  having  a 
Home  Comfortable,  Affectionate,  Orderly,  a 
mind  at  Ease,  and  Respect  abroad — are  so 
many  pleasing  Links  which  depend  entirely 
on  their  own  Chain  of  good  Conduct — and 
these  must  rivet  those  propensitys  to  well 
doing  —  w'ch  the  sensible  Practise,  when 
Prudence  alone  views  the  reverse  of  such 
Picture  in  a  distressful  Light  —  I  yester- 
day heard  a  story  of  a  married  pair,  which 
pleased  me  greatly,  from  the  sensible  singu- 
larity of  it  —  tho'  I  avoided  making  any 
comments  at  the  time  —  A  Gentleman  in 
the  North  of  very  large  fortune — and  indo- 
lent turn  of  mind,  was  extremely  desirous 
of    marrying    a    Woman    of    such    sprightly 

235 


LETTERS 

talents,  and  good  Disposition  as  might 
rouse  his  mind  from  it's  usual  state  of 
Inactivity,  and  at  the  same  time.  Induce 
her  to  be  grateful  for  his  preference,  and 
never  think  of  taking  advantage  of  his 
Supine  Humour  —  this  you'll  say,  might 
be  difficult  to  accomplish,  however  as  he 
was  perfectly  Indifferent  as  to  Money 
Matters — Very  Young  &  rather  Handsome 
—  Many  Necessitous  Girls  endeavor' d  to 
Captivate  His  Notice  —  but  all  in  Vain  — 
till  a  Very  smart  spirited  one,  in  the  Per- 
son of  a  Toad  Eater  threw  out  a  Bait  for 
Him  at  a  Water  drinking  Place.  He  was 
attracted  by  her  appearance,  and  had  sing- 
ularity enough  to  admire  her  courage,  in 
thinking  of  a  Man  worth  three  thousand  a 
year.  They  married,  and  the  generality  of 
People  Prophecied  that  Misery  wou'd  be 
the  Portion  of  each,  as  Interest  on  one 
side,  and  Caprice  on  the  other  was  only 
supposed  to  have  cemented  their  union — 
but  the  man  had  great  good  Judgment, 
as  well  as  generosity,  under  the  appearance 
of  Much  Phlegm,  &  Indolence  —  and  the 
Girl,  Sense  and  Gratitude,  as  well  as  Wit 
&  Vivacity  at  will — and  they  proved  a  very 


LETTERS 

Happy  and  respectable  Couple,  without 
other  aides  than  such  as  Moderate  Affec- 
tions, and  reasonable  Dictates,  usually  sup- 
ply— but  their  Sensible  Plan  of  Acting,  was 
in  a  great  measure  ascribed  to  a  very  seri- 
ous conversation  he  had  with  her  the  Day 
after  Marriage.  —  After  shewing  her  his 
House,  his  Gardens,  making  his  House- 
keeper explain  to  her  the  different  Depart- 
ments of  Servants  &;c.  &;c.  Economicks — 
He  desired  she  would  oblige  Him  with  her 
Company  in  his  Library,  tete  a  tete,  for  a 
couple  of  Hours — the  Girl  was  all  Amaze- 
ment—  and  well  she  might  —  for  He  had 
never  been  known  to  harangue  for  a  Quar- 
ter of  an  hour  together  in  his  Life  —  but 
she  submitted  of  course  &  you  are  to  sup- 
posed them  seated  in  his  Study,  each  side 
of  a  Pembroke  Table,  if  you  will,  his  Hand 
extended   over  it  to  receive   Hers — and   He 

Declaiming   Thus "My    Dear   Lydia    I 

*  observed  your  su[r]prize,  and  I  wonder  not 
'  at  it,  when  I  proposed  a  Conference  with 
'  you — You  must  think  it  strange — that  I, 
'  who  never  sought  to  engage  your  atten- 
'  tion  for  more  than  ten  minutes  together 
'  before,    should    now    solicit   it   for    Hours, 

23T 


LETTERS 

when  I've  a  Prospect  of  engaging  it  as 
often  as  I  choose  —  but  my  dear  Girl — 
lend  me  your  serious  attention  at  present, 
&  1  flatter  myself  that  I  never  shall  be 
desirous  of  it  again  on  the  same  subject — 
as  1  cannot  think  my  Inclinations  once 
known,  that  you  will  ever  act  in  opposi- 
tion to  them — You  are  not  to  suppose 
Lydia,  from  my  Character  as  to  Indo- 
lence &  Singularity,  that  I  have  not  the 
same  Discernment  and  in  many  Respects 
the  same  Passions  as  other  men  and  you 
will  find  perhaps,  under  this  Apparent 
Nonchalance  one  of  the  steadiest  Tem- 
pers and  most  quick  sighted  observers — 
you  ever  met  with  in  the  most  brilliant 
of  your  acquaintance — but  the  Truth  is, 
my  Dear,  that  I'm  of  a  Very  speculative 
if  not  Philosophic  Humour  —  I  have  in 
my  heart — a  most  thorough  Contempt  for 
Pageantry  and  Ceremony,  in  almost  all 
it's  Forms — but  I  have  never  yet  loved 
an  human  Being  well  enough  to  tell 
them  so — I  am  satisfied  with  the  recti- 
tude of  my  own  Heart,  and  desire  no 
other  Praises  than  what  results  from  the 
Consciousness  of  Deserving  all  good   Peo- 

238 


LETTERS 


pies,  if  the  string  of  my  Actions  was  once 
discover' d — but  I  speak  not  of  this  Pecu- 
harity,  as  any  Excellence  in  my  Nature — 
it  is  perhaps  the  Contrary — as  most  Good 
Persons  are  taught  to  admire  the  Opinions 
&  Practises  of  the  Public,  and  they  may 
be  right  in  doing  so — if  either  the  one 
or  the  other  are  effectual  in  stimulating 
to  good  Examples — with  me  they  do  not 
operate  in  this  way — I  have  no  pleasure 
in  any  thing,  however  well  appearing,  if 
I  cannot  trace  it  to  the  source  of  good 
Moral  Principles — I  love  the  study  of  the 
human  Kind  above  all  sciences — and  in 
order  to  accomplish  this,  I  must  have  my 
own  at  perfect  ease — this  an  Indifferent 
Spectator  would  imagine  no  difficult  mat- 
ter surrounded  with  affluence,  bless 'd  with 
Health  and  equal  Spirits  as  I  am — but 
my  Dear  Girl — in  spite  of  these  Advan- 
tages— I  have  not  tasted  any  Permanent 
Happiness  —  My  Domesticks  leave  me, 
without  mtending  it,  I  believe  —  My 
Recreations  have  pall'd,  in  spite  of  my 
Philosophy  —  and  Serious  Inchnations  to 
continue  them  without  satiety — for  they 
have    always    been    such,    as    my    Reason 

239 


LETTERS 

approved — Friendships,  I  have  had,  but 
they  have  only  been  transient  ones,  owing 
to  the  want  of  congeniahty  in  my  asso- 
ciations [and]  Feehngs,  which  is  requisite 
to  gratify  a  taste  hke  mine  —  the  World 
mixed  too  much,  in  their  Regards  of 
the  tenderest  sort  for  me  to  expect  to 
keep  my  Hold,  if  any  Matter  of  Interest 
intervened,  and  therefore  I  have  been 
content,  to  bear  the  reproach  of  fickle- 
ness (tho'  a  Vice  I  abhor' d)  by  relaxing 
in  my  attentions,  and  by  that  means  fur- 
nishing them  with  an  excuse  to  break  off 
a  Commerce  which  had  nothing  better 
than  Convenience  or  Love  of  Dissipation 
for  its  Basis.  —  Marriage  I  have  ever 
thought,  the  union  of  all  others,  best 
calculated  to  promote  the  Happiness  of 
a  Heart  like  mine — but  I  despair'd  I 
own  to  you — of  meeting  with  an  object 
capable  of  fulfilling  her  share  of  it's 
Duties,  Agreable  to  my  sense  of  the 
matter — Address,  I'd  none — and  my  for- 
tune I  rather  thought  a  snare  to  me,  as 
I  never  made  a  secret  of  my  being  indif- 
ferent as  to  that  article,  if  I  could  but 
secure    the    Woman    of    my    choice  —  her 

240 


L  E  T  TE  R  S 

affections  I  mean  Lydia  —  that  is,  that 
preference  in  them,  which  every  man  is 
entitled  to  expect,  who  marries  a  Woman 
of  principle  unattached  to  any  other  man, 
and  while  he  preserves  his  right  to  them, 
by  such  a  portion  of  kindness  and  Confi- 
dence as  assures  her,  of  the  same  Place 
in  His — This  my  dear  Girl,  I  have  yet 
my  Doubts  of — as  to  you — Your  Dissi- 
pated tho'  Mortifying  Manner  of  Life — 
induces  me  to  think,  you  may  have  seen 
the  man  you  could  have  prefer' d  to  my- 
self, if  you  had  been  at  liberty  to  bestow 
your  hand  where  you  had  chose.  (I  hope 
Lydia  shed  tears  at  this  place)  Your 
Embarrassments  as  to  Situation  —  Your 
indifferent  Prospects,  naturally  accounted 
for  your  wishing  to  attract  any  Man, 
whose  Honorable  Protection,  could  insure 
you  a  tolerable  Establishment  in  Life — 
Fortune  threw  me  in  your  way — I  saw 
your  Design  and  assisted  you  in  it,  as  I 
flattered  myself,  that  I  distinguished  in 
you  a  disposition  to  be  grateful  for  any 
pecuniary  Advantages  I  could  bestow — 
this  was  all  I  expected,  it  was  almost 
all    I    wished    till    I    could    have    time    & 

241 


LETTERS 

opportunities  to  convince  you,  that  I 
deserved,  all  that  a  Woman  so  circum- 
stanced has  to  give.  —  And  now  my 
dearest  Girl,  I  will  deal  very  ingenu- 
ously with  you  —  I  really  like  you  at 
present,  as  much  as  many  women  would 
wish  to  be  liked — but  my  affections  are 
so  much  controul'd  by  my  Reason — that 
I  believe  I  could  withdraw  them  without 
any  Material  Prejudice  to  my  Peace  if 
you  disgusted  me  by  Indifference  in  your 
Carriage  towards  myself,  or  the  least  spe- 
cies of  Coquettry  towards  any  other  Man 
whatever — for  I  think  myself  entitled  to 
Mild  obligingness  at  all  times,  however 
singular  my  Humour,  and  I  would  as 
soon,  my  Wife  gave  her  Person  to  an- 
other Man,  as  her  little  finger,  with  the 
Idea  of  a  Momentary  Preference  to  my- 
self— start  not  Lydia — nor  think  yourself 
subject  to  a  Jealous  Husband — for  such  I 
neither  am,  or  ever  can  be — but  I  am 
Nice — so  nice,  that  I  could  much  sooner 
forgive  your  want  of  love  for  me,  than 
your  want  of  Delicacy,  in  any  of  the 
Punctilio's,  which  are  not  only  peculiar 
to    the    Femenine    Character,    but   highly 


LETTERS 

graceful  in  it  when  properly  maintain 'd. 
My  dear  Girl — I  mean  to  deal  quite  upon 
the  Square  with  you,  My  Prudence  will 
occasionally  restrain  your  lively  Powers — 
and  those  will  constitute  my  Happiness, 
judiciously  exerted — for  nothing  but  your- 
self that  I  know  of — has  a  chance  of  the 
Power,  to  make  me  animated  or  even 
visibly  chearful  —  We  shall  be  mut[u]ally 
assisting  &  obliged  to  each  other — I  wish 
to  banish  the  Word  Obedience  from  our 
Compact — and  to  substitute  that  of  We 
for  the  letter  /  &  Word  You  —  I  will 
never  arrogate  on  the  score  of  Masculine 
Prerogative — I  am  ashamed  of  those  Men, 
who  have  recourse  to  it,  when  they  have 
a  sensible  mild  companion  to  deal  with, 
&  do  not  you  my  Lydia,  ever  mistake, 
your  real  Interest  so  much  as  to  be  in- 
duced to  take  advantages  of  the  Easiness 
of  my  nature.  You  may,  I  tell  you,  you 
may,  succeed  in  many  Points  by  attempt- 
ing it,  for  I  cannot  contend  with  those 
who  are  even  Indifferent  to  me,  but  my 
Dear,  you  would  by  such  means  injure 
my  opinion  of  your  Generosity  —  &;  this 
would    pave    the    way    to    various    uneasi- 


LETTERS 

ness's  with  the  Woman  I  loved  —  We 
must  in  that  case  part,  for  I  would  owe 
nothing,  but  to  her  Love,  Gratitude,  or 
kindness — the  Tye  of  Duty  without  these 
— is  to  me,  a  mere  cobweb — tell  me  your 
Thoughts,  on  every  subject,  as  they  arise 
my  Lydia  —  &  I  will  either  conform  to 
them,  or  satisfy  your  reason  by  giving 
the  preference  to  my  Own ;  our  joint 
Stock  of  Wisdom  is  the  Property  of  one 
or  both  as  one  or  both  as  either  may 
happen  to  have  occasion  for  more  than 
their  immediate  supplies — let  us  use  it  as 
such,  my  Lydia — and  never  think  of  valu- 
ing ourselves  occasionally,  more  than  each 
other,  for  this,  or  that  advantage — when 
all  our  good  Qualities  ought  to  be  in 
common  to  both,  and  so  they  must,  if 
we  mean  to  promote  each  others  Happi- 
ness, on  a  principle  of  Love,  Wisdom,  or 
mere  Policy  for  there's  no  such  Thing,  in 
Fact,  as  a  separate  Interest  in  Marriage, 
between  Persons  of  Reflection — or  good 
Morals  —  they  must  each,  occasionally, 
advance  their  whole  Quota  of  Worth,  in 
order  to  please  or  assist  the  other,  if  they 
wish  to  live  Peaceably  or  be  Respected — 

244 


LETTERS 

and  this  every  thinking  Man  &  Woman 
must  wish — My  dearest  Lydia,  would  you 
gain  my  soul,  &  reign  for  ever  the  Mis- 
tress of  it,  do  not  teaze  me  with  Menial 
Adventures — never  let  me  hear  your  voice 
rais'd  or  see  a  frown  lowering  on  your 
Brow  —  these  requests  complied  with  on 
your  Part — I  will  engage  to  second  all 
your  Wishes,  while  you  seem  desirous  of 
promoting  mine — and  I  doubt  not  but  we 
may  years  hence  be  cited  as  Examples  of 
Conjugal  Felicity,  when  those  whose  Union 
commenced  in  Transport,  have  long,  ex- 
hausted, all  their  stock  of  Tenderness — 
for  you  my  dear,  have  Wit,  Spirit,  sense 
enough ;  and  a  Devotion  to  Elegant  Clean- 
liness—  I,  prudence,  tenderness,  and  easy 
Temper  to  please — and  a  real  Inclination 
to  love  you  better,  than  I  now  do,  every 
Day  of  my  Life  —  perfect  this  wish  my 
Lydia — it  is  in  your  Power  to  do  it — as 
I   doubt  your  Capacity  in  Nothing  which 

is   congenial   to   your  Will." Was  not 

this  a  sensible  Harangue  my  dear  James? 
I  swear  to  you,  that  to  see  a  Plan  of  this 
sort  seems  a  thousand  times  better  calcu- 
lated to  promote  Harmony  in  Life,  than  all 

245 


LETTERS 

the  Reserves,  Distances,  and  Authorities, 
which  men  of  noted  Pride  or  Wisdom  can 
have  recourse  to;  for  there  is  that,  in  the 
Mind  of  a  Principled  Woman,  which  makes 
her  fond  of  unHmited  confidences,  it  speaks 
to  her  affections,  and  I  verily  believe  there 
never  yet,  was  that  good  Character,  who 
abused  them;  Men  of  sense,  should  never 
insinuate  to  a  Wife,  that  they  have  not  a 
very  high  opinion  of  her  Generosity — as  it  is 
the  first  step,  to  a  good  Minds  being  care- 
less and  a  degenerate  One's  throwing  off 
the  Mask  —  for  many  a  Woman  has  been 
complimented  into  good  Behaviour,  upon 
trying  occasions  when  Temptations  foible — 
and  many  a  one,  lost  to  a  sense  of  great- 
ness, from  depriving  her  of  the  Rewards 
due  to  Worth,  and  by  that  means  destroy- 
ing the  Principle  of  Self  Complacency, 
which  in  Some  Minds,  must  be  encour- 
aged to  be  durable  —  for  such  is  our 
Machinery,  my  dear  James,  that  we  are 
all  actuated  by  Praise,  more  or  less,  con- 
sequently more  Mechanical  in  our  Thoughts 
&  Actions  than  Pride  or  Knowledge,  will 
sometimes  admit  of  from  not  being  con- 
scious   perhaps    of    the     necessity    of    that 

946 


LETTERS 

stimulus  in  their  own  Case,  which  is  abso- 
lutely requisite  to  some  natures,  to  impel 
them  to  any  thing  of  the  Noble,  and  good 
Kind. — After  teUing  you  that  Mt  &  M'? 
Fenton,  experienced  the  good  effects  of 
coming  to  an  Ecclaircissement,  and  hav- 
ing a  real  dependance  on  the  Generosity  & 
good  sense  of  each  other,  it  may  be  un- 
necessary to  add  perhaps,  that  they  became 
the  esteem,  &  admiration  of  their  neigh- 
bourhood; still  I  tell  you  of  it,  because  it's 
pleasant  to  dwell  on  such  subjects,  &  not 
to  leave  a  doubt  on  the  mind  of  those  who 
contemplate  them  with  satisfaction,  as  every 
judge  of  real  merit  must,  from  their  own 
fund  of  Natural  Benevolence — M^  Fenton, 
from  a  Man  distinguished  for  his  Indiffer- 
ence and  Taciturnity  —  became  as  remark- 
able for  his  Even  Chearfulness,  and  social 
Humour  —  Lydia  lost  nothing  of  her 
Sprightly  Talents,  by  making  many  of  his 
Maxims,  her  own — and  added  to  the  repu- 
tation of  being  a  most  agreable  Woman, 
that  of  being  as  respectable,  as  lively.  A 
numerous  offspring,  together  with  the  Habit 
of  acting  in  Concert  upon  all  occasions,  has 
so  rivited  their  affections,  &  Principles,  that 

247 


LETTERS 

a  description  of  their  manners  has  rather  the 
air  of  a  romantic  Fiction,  than  any  thing 
which  exists  in  real  Life — consequently  the 
truest  reflection,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
bitterest  satyr,  which  can  be  made  on  the 
present  system  of  Wedlock  is,  that  to  think 
&  act  as  they  do,  will  be  the  ready  means, 
of  making  a  Couple  pass  for  Romantic. — 
Sincerity,  Constancy,  Generosity,  and  ten- 
derness, are  rarely  to  be  found.  They  are 
so  much  out  of  use,  that  People  of  Mode 
imagine  them  to  be  out  of  Nature.  I  bor- 
row this  Thought  from  a  letter  in  Swifts 
Collection — it  is.  There  applied  to  Friend- 
ship, I  remember,  and  as  the  Passage  struck 
me,  1  will  endeavor  to  give  you  the  whole 
of  it,  I  quote  from  Memory.  *'  We  meet, 
with  few  Friends :  the  greatest  part  of 
those,  who,  pass  for  such,  are  properly 
speaking,  nothing  more  than  acquaintances; 
and  no  Wonder,  since  Tully's  Maxim  is 
certainly  true,  that  Friendship  can  subsist 
non  nisi  inter  bonus  [sic],  at  that  age  of  Life, 
when  there  is  balm  in  the  Blood,  and  that 
Confidence  in  the  Mind,  which  the  inno- 
cency  of  our  own  heart  inspires,  and  the 
Experience    of    other    People's    destroys.      I 

248 


LETTERS 

was  apt  to  confound  my  Acquaintance  & 
my  friends  together.  I  never  doubted  but 
I  had  a  numerous  Cohort  of  the  Latter. — 
but  the  fire  of  Adversity  has  purged  the 
mass  of  my  Acquaintances,  and  the  separa- 
tion made,  I  discover  on  one  side,  a  hand- 
ful of  friends;  but  on  the  other,  a  Legion 
of  Enemies,  at  least  of  strangers. — Happily 
this  fiery  trial  has  had  an  effect  on  me, 
which  makes  me  some  amends.  I  have 
found  less  Resource  in  other  People,  and 
more  in  myself,  than  I  expected."  Have 
you  formed  an  Acquaintance  with  my  dear 
MP  Stratton,  James?  I  hope  you  have, 
because  I  think  her  Mind  of  that  Cast, 
which  must  inevitably  please  you  when 
once  known — her  reserve  is  imputed  to  be 
as  a  foible  in  this  part  of  the  world,  by 
superficial  observers — but  to  me,  it  speaks 
an  Additional  Charm  in  her  Character — As 
I  love  those  Dispositions,  which  do  not  un- 
fold themselves  to  all  alike,  but  reserve  for 
a  few,  a  distinguished  Few!  their  Ingenu- 
ousness and  pleasing  Powers — Such  Persons, 
never  attract  the  Notice  of  the  World  in  a 
great  Measure,  but  they  generally  make  the 
steadiest    Friends    and    kindest    support    in 

249 


LETTERS 

every  serious  relation  of  Life.  —  and  this 
once  known,  We  must  feel  a  Superior  degree 
of  esteem  for  Them — As  the  very  Indiffer- 
ence which  displeases  mere  Acquaintance,  is 
a  tacit  acknowledgement  of  their  sincerity 
when  they  profess  to  like  any  Individual; 
and  in  fact,  a  very  high  Compliment  to  the 
Person  so  noticed ;  as  We  may  observe,  that 
Reserve  and,  Indifference  immediately  give 
Place,  to  Ingenuous  Communications,  and  a 
desire  to  please,  when  once  they  profess  to 
regard  any  body  with  real  affection — I  own 
to  you,  I  greatly  admire  those  Characters, 
who  can  hold  general  applause  so  cheap,  as 
never  to  think  of  trying  for  it — a  wariness 
to  prevent  Censure,  every  delicate  mind 
must  practise — but  any  thing  farther  from 
the  World  than  mere  Indifference  or  silence, 
seems  not  to  be  the  aim,  of  these  rightly 
formed  Creatures,  and  truely,  when  one  sees 
the  Scandal,  Malice,  &  Detraction,  which 
Vivacity  Address — and  the  Desire  of  pleas- 
ing, Subjects  People  of  Brilliant  Talents 
to — there's  nothing  methinks  very  enviable, 
in  their  Powers — especially  if  they  are  not 
(as  I've  heard  is  the  case)  so  well  qualified 
to    discharge     the     softer     Engagements    of 

250 


LETTERS 

Society,  as  the  undisplaying  Tempers  of  a 
sombre  hue.  —  If  you  observe,  throughout 
your  whole  acquaintance  my  dear  James — I 
dare  say  you'll  find — that  the  most  serious, 
&  quiet  natures,  attach  Husbands,  Lovers, 
friends,  &  children  to  them  much  more 
strongly  than  the  Gay  Agreables  do — and 
this  might  be  easily  accounted  for. — I  dare 
say  too  —  that  Minds  of  such  a  Cast  are 
much  more  capable  of  any  thing  Great, 
and  worthy  of  Record,  than  the  Vivacious 
fair  ones — for  it  is  the  Curse  of  these  to 
fail  in  exciting  esteem  —  tho'  they  often 
Charm  —  and  seldom  fail  to  amuse  —  but 
such  is  the  degeneracy  of  the  Times,  that 
a  Woman  must  have  deep  Reflection  in- 
deed, who,  unassisted  by  Excellent  Advisers 
can  rise  superior  to  the  Amiable  Triflers 
Character — As  Men  of  almost  all  Denomi- 
nations prefer  it  to  that  of  any  other 
species — and  no  Wonder — for  where  Mar- 
riage is  made  subservient  to  a  wretch 'd 
plan'd  system  of  Convenience,  Men  Doubt- 
less, will  often  find  their  Home  a  seat  of 
Irksomeness ;  and  fly  to  any  thing,  or  any 
body,  who  can  divest  them  of  Thinking — 
'tis  then,  that  the  agreable  Trifler,  feels  her 

251 


LETTERS 

own  Importance — and  judges,  that  it  ought 
to  be,  the  summit  of  female  Perfection, 
because  it  often  pleases  when  Sense,  Birth 
&  Prudence,  fail  to  attach  or  Amuse;  not 
considering,  poor  Thing,  that  it's  Merit,  is 
principally  founded,  on  the  Defects  of  the 
other  Sex — for  if  Men  were  Wise,  at  all 
times  they  would  always  Act  from  Prin- 
ciple— consequently  only  be  amused  by  the 
Trifling,  and  give  their  serious  attachments 
to  the  seriously  Deserving  —  but  this  can 
never  be  till  Marriage  becomes  an  affair  of 
the  Heart,  as  till  then,  Men  never  can  be 
satisfied  to  ponder  &  reflect  on  the  spring 
of  their  own  actions  with  impartiality,  that 
is  if  they  have  any  remain  of  sensibility  in 
them  —  for  so  true  a  reverence  has  every 
one  for  himself,  when  He  comes  clearly  to 
appear  before  his  Close  Companion  Con- 
science; that  He  had  rather  profess  the 
Vilest  Things  of  himself  in  Company,  than 
hear  his  Character  privately  from  his  own 
mouth.  So  that  we  may  from  hence  con- 
clude. That  the  chief  Interest  of  Ambition, 
Avarice,  Corruption,  and  every  sly,  insinu- 
ating Vice,  is  to  prevent  this  Intimacy,  and 
familiarity  of  Discourse  which  is  consequent 

252 


LETTERS 

upon  close  Retirement,  and  inward  Recess. 
— and  to  avoid  it  —  the  Man,  or  Woman, 
of  frailty,  will  ever  seek  Dissipation  in  all 
its  forms,  till  that  even  becomes  toilsome  as 
the  severest  Manuel  Labour  —  I  never  had 
so  high  an  Idea  of  the  Recluse  Character 
as  I  have  at  Present,  nor  so  contemptable 
a  one  of  the  frivolous  —  as  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  the  former  must  be  conscious 
of  his  own  superiority  in  every  thing  which 
regards  the  Heart,  or  He  never  could  sub- 
mit to  live  without  those  aids  which  society 
furnishes  —  and  as  to  the  latter.  He  could 
not  be  insensible  enough,  to  make  a  toil  of 
Diversion  (the  Wise  intention  of  which  was 
to  unbend  the  Mind  only)  if  He  had  that 
Credit  with  himself  which  enables  a  Man 
to  question  his  own  Heart,  without  any 
fear  of  it's  Reproofs  on  the  score  of  Vice — 
Here's — Morality  for  you  my  dear  James — 
but  I  hope  it  will  not  displease  you — as  I 
cannot  help  thinking  it  confirms  my  own 
good  Resolutions,  when  I  thus,  give  forth — 
a  voice  to  it's  Dictates  either  in  writing  or 

Discourse 1    shall   strenuously   urge    M' 

Draper   to   let   me   return   to   England  next 
year — that  is  about  January  next  at  farthest 

953 


LETTERS 

— As  he  always  promised — that  I  should  be 
with  my  Girl,  by  the  time  she  was  twelve 
years  old,  whether  He  was  desirous,  or 
ready  to  quit  India,  by  that  time,  or  not — 
in  October  next,  she  will  be  eleven  —  &  I 
hope  —  I  hope!  MT  Draper  will  not  forfeit 
his  Word  to  me — his  Prospects,  as  to  the 
Broach  Affair  will  be  then  settled — and  his 
fortune  is  so  easy,  that  He  may  without 
prejudice  to  it,  allow  me  four  or  five  hun- 
dred a  year,  I  desire  no  more — my  Resi- 
dence of  Choice,  would  be  in  some  one  of 
the  ^^illages  near  Town,  as  I  mean  to  have 
Eliza  entirely  with  me  —  &  must  be  near 
the  Metropolis  on  account  of  the  necessary 
Masters  for  her  Instruction  —  otherwise  1 
should  have  to  fix  at  some  distance  from 
London — as  I  know,  the  Self  Denial  requi- 
site to  avoid  Participation  in  Gay  Scenes,  is 
by  no  means  a  pleasing  Sensation,  tho'  a 
very  necessary  one,  to  Persons  of  greater 
taste  than  affluence  —  and  I  would  at  any 
time  rather  avoid  Temptation,  than  be 
obliged  to  resist  it  (which  I  must  do — if 
seated  in  the  midst  of  it) — as  I  have  no 
Idea  that  my  Philosophy  is  of  that  Invul- 
nerable sort,  that  may  safely  defye  all  out- 

254 


LETTERS 

ward  attacks,  without  the  least  risk  of  en- 
dangering it.  The  Parthian  DiscipHne,  to 
fight  Flying  is  the  properest  Method  of 
Defence  a  Woman  can  make  when  Danger 
or  Temptations  assail  her  Courage — but  to 
guard  against  their  approaches  is  still  better 
Policy,  as  well  as  more  Amiable — because 
it  evinces  Wisdom  &  Modesty  too  —  both 
highly  praiseworthy  in  the  Female  Character 
— and  reflective  of  Light  upon  each  other — 
when  gracefully  exerted — I  am  as  sensible, 
as  yourself,  my  dear,  of  the  necessity  there 
may  be  for  my  being  in  England  before 
Betsey  is  much  older  —  I  can,  and  will 
speak  plainer  than  you  have  done  —  as  a 
proof  of  which  I  now  tell  you,  that  I  do 
not  think  M^^^  Whitehills  at  all  a  proper 
Protection  for  Betsey — in  the  first  Place, 
because  she  has  never  been  a  Parent  her- 
self—  in  the  next,  because  Misfortunes  in 
the  Early  part  of  her  Life,  when  her  Affec- 
tions were  warm,  and  Expectations  high, 
have  given,  to  a  mind  naturally  active  & 
Chearful  —  both  an  Indolent,  &  reserved 
Cast  —  the  former  disqualifies  her,  for  at- 
tending to  the  Minutiae  in  a  Childs  Educa- 
tion,   and    the    latter    for    encouraging,    that 


LETTERS 

species  of  Communicativeness,  which  is  the 
Cement  of  Affection  between  a  Child  and 
it's  Monitress — I  have  another  objection  to 
M^®  Whitehills  Patronage — which  may  seem 
at  first,  to  have  an  ungenerous  sound — but 
I  mean  nothing  ilUteral  by  it — and  that  is, 
her  narrow  Circumstances  —  Betsey  has  a 
chance  for  Hving  Elegantly,  and  I  am  afraid 
from  the  natural  bent  of  her  mind  that  if 
she  is  suddenly  translated  from  one  extreme 
of  Life  to  another,  she  may  be  apt  to  for- 
get her  obligations  to  M^^  Whitehill,  and 
regulate  her  opinion  of  her,  by  her  situa- 
tion—  this  is  but  too  natural,  to  Girls  of 
lively  Propensities,  especially  if  they  are 
taught  to  look  forward  to  the  luxuries,  as 
to  a  real  Good — and  all  Preceptors,  &  Pre- 
ceptress's teach  this,  more  or  less,  for  what 
else  can  be  implied,  by  their  servile  Atten- 
tion to  Parents  and  Persons  of  Wealth — 
however  Denominated,  as  to  Character.  A 
conduct  of  the  above  sort,  in  Betsey,  to 
M^^  Whitehill,  would  indeed  distress  me 
exceedingly;  &  well  I  know,  it  would  to 
the  Soul,  mortify  that  sensible  Woman — 
for  she  has  all  those  finer  Sensibilities,  w'ch 
Affliction      &     Pecuniary      Embarrassments, 

256 


L  E  T  TE  R  S 

rather  gives  a  sharper  edge  to,  than  blunts 
by  the  trial  of  perverse  Accidents — and  for 
this  reason — Independent  of  my  Wishes  on 
her  own  Account,  I  do  most  seriously  wish, 
that  her  situation  in  Life  had  been  perfectly 
easy  —  Children,  in  general  —  have  amazing 
Powers  as  to  observation  &  memory — Betsey, 
I  am  confident,  possesses  these  —  &  they 
may  enable  her  to  retain  as  to  matters  in 
which  I  had  rather  she  was  perfectly  igno- 
rant. Had  M^s  Whitehill  been  a  Mother — 
had  her  fortune  been  affluent,  and  her  ten- 
derness of  Heart  a  little  more  Conspicuous 
— I  know  not  the  Woman  who  could  have 
been  more  capable  of  forming  the  Minds 
of  Young  People,  for  she  has  great  Good 
Sense,  Generosity  of  Temper,  a  Mind  Natu- 
rally Chearful,  &  prone  to  make  every  thing 
it's  own  with  the  assistance  of  very  little 
Application,  then  she  reads,  writes,  speakes, 
not  only  correctly  but  gracefully,  these  are 
all  Important  Advantages.  I  can  &  do  feel 
the  weight  of  them,  &  shall  for  ever  think 
my  self  obliged  for  Her — unsolicited  offer 
to  take  Charge  of  the  Children — I  should 
have  loved  her  better  perhaps,  if  I  had 
thought    it    proceeded    from    a    Principle    of 

257 


LETTERS 

Affection  to  myself  rather  than  Generosity 
— but  this  is  fooHsh  to  say — or  think — as 
We  certainly  can  rely  more  securely  on  those 
Qualities  which  are  implanted  in  the  breast 
by  nature  herself  &  confirmed  by  Choice  &c 
Habit,  than  on  those  partial  Affections, 
which  Caprice,  Absence,  Time,  or  Chance 
Eradicate.  'Tis  certain  that  I  in  my  Life, 
could  never  be  induced  to  Unbend  my 
whole  soul  in  the  Presence  of  M'!^  White- 
hill — there  was  a  consent  of  Minds,  a  some- 
thing wanting,  which  enables  the  playful 
sincere  Heart,  to  disclose  it's  follies,  it's 
Wishes,  with  the  genuine  warmth  of  kind 
Simplicity,  and  without  the  suspicion  of 
being  any  way  a  sufferer,  by  the  frank 
disclosure.  Betsey's  Teinper,  partakes  much 
of  the  nature  of  my  own,  &  if  her  observa- 
tion is  of  the  same  stamp  —  she  will  have 
her  Reserves  to  M^^  Whitehill,  &  this  will 
inculcate  an  artifice  which  is  at  all  times 
hateful,  and  more  particularly  so  in  the 
Girlish  Character — which  ought  to  be  com- 
posed of  frankness,  Generosity,  and  all  the 
mild  Attributes,  suitable  to  the  Age  of 
Innocence. — Oh  my  dear  James !  what  an 
important  Task  is  it  to  train  a  young  mind 

2&S 


LETTERS 

properly  to  all  the  Duties  of  Society!  and 
yet  how  shamefully  is  it  neglected  by 
Guardians — Teachers,  and  even  by  Parents 
themselves!  and  for  what  is  it  too  often 
Neglected?  even  for  some  sorry  purpose  of 
dirty  interest — or  more  contemptible  one,  of 
Thoughtless  Dissipation — the  first  ought  ever 
to  be  subservient  to  our  childrens  Welfare — 
instead  of  taking  place  of  it — as  a  primary 
Consideration,  and  the  last  can  only  amuse 
for  a  While,  at  best,  and  yet  to  pursue  these 
Ideal  Satisfactions — we  too,  too  often,  neg- 
lect a  permanent  Good — in  leaving  to  the 
blind  guidance  of  Chance,  a  study,  which  if 
properly  cultivated,  might  be  the  source  of 
all  our  Pleasures  —  when  Age  &  Decency 
urges  the  Propriety  of  making  way  for 
Younger  Actors  in  the  busy  Scenes  of 
Life's  Stage.  —  I  know  not  a  more  dis- 
graceful Picture  of  human  nature  —  than 
that  of  Old  People  frequenting  the  paths 
assigned  to  Youth  —  &  folly  —  or  a  more 
delightful  survey  to  the  Intelhgent  Mind, 
than  that  of  Age,  retiring  to  the  Seques- 
ter'd  Valley,  beloved  by  it's  Offspring, 
Honor' d  by  it's  Dependants — and  Rever- 
enced    by    All  —  But    this    can    only,    with 

259 


LETTERS 

reason  be  expected,  when  in  Youth — We 
give  up  something  to  the  Claims  of  our 
Children.  Our  Time,  I  must  ever  think  of 
as  their  lawful  Property — this  once  Devoted 
to  them,  &  judiciously  arranged  for  the 
Purpose  of  Solid  Improvements  —  They 
must  be  a  Blessing  to  us  —  if  Nature  has 
not  forgot  indeed  or  much  erred,  in  the 
Execution  of  her  part.  —  I  do  declare  to 
you  my  friend,  that  when  I  am  once 
settled  in  England  —  Betsey  shall  be  as 
inseparable  from  me,  as  my  Right  Hand 
is  from  my  left. — I  am  astonished  at  the 
Reasoning  of  those  Parents,  who  can  imag- 
ine that  a  Venal  person  will  do  justice  to 
their  Children  for  the  sake  of  a  Pecuniary 
Reward;  when  they  themselves,  betray  an 
unwillingness  to  forming  their  Principles, 
and  Manners  by  the  resignation  of  Time, 
or  the  sacrifice  of  what's  call'd  Diversions. 
I  have  no  Idea,  but  a  Girl  must  improve  a 
thousand  times  more,  under  the  Tutorage 
of  a  Prudent  ^lother,  than  from  the  Docu- 
ments of  the  most  sensible  &  accomplished 
Governess  whatever.  —  A  Boarding  School, 
may  be  a  very  proper  seminary  for  an 
Actress — as    there    she    may    learn    to    lisp 

260 


LETTERS 

before  a  numerous  audience  —  and  to  lose 
that  Bashfulness  so  prejudicial  to  the  Cares 
of  Fame,  in  the  way  of  Public  Excellence — 
but  for  a  Child,  who  is  to  aspire  no  higher, 
than  to  the  Character  of  a  private  Gentle 
AV^oman,  it  is  I  think,  the  very  worst 
Nursery  she  can  possibly  be  fixed  in  —  so 
thinking,  do  3^ou  not  pity  me  James,  when 
you  connect  the  Idea  of  Betseys  situation 
with  this  plain  assurance  ?  take  into  the 
account  too,  my  Dear,  that  all  my  Pros- 
pects of  Worldly  Happiness  are  dependant 
on  the  Rectitude,  Manners  &  Establishment 
of  this  beloved  Child — Think  of  my  being 
obliged  to  submit  all  these  Important  Con- 
cerns to  Chance,  and  that  for  no  better 
Reason,  than  to  remain  an  useless  Spectator 
in  a  detestable  Country,  where  my  Health 
is  declining,  my  Mind  tortured  by  the  Sac- 
rifice of  my  own  just  Wishes — to  a  most 
illiberal  species  of  Reasoning,  founded  on 
Caprice — and  then  my  Dear  Woman,  You 
will  but  do  justice  to  my  sorrow — if  you 
think,  and  pronounce — that  of  all  Beings 
the  most  worthy  your  Compassion  at 
present  is  your  unfortunate  Friend  —  your 
almost,   broken    Hearted    Eliza. 

261 


LETTERS 

I  am  indeed  —  Unhappy!  I  think,  superla- 
tively sol — but  I  will  try  to  divest  myself 
of  this  Notion, — as,  with  Nerves  like  Mine, 
it  might  accelerate  a  Fate,  I  wish  to  avoid, 
for  the  sake  of  my  Dearer  self — for  Betsey, 
would  never  get  such  another  Monitress — as 
I  am  Qualified  to  be  to  her — My  Disap- 
pointments— real  Afflictions,  &  Natural  turn 
of  Mind — all  have  added  to  a  tenderness  for 
her,  which  ever,  1  think,  was  fondly  mater- 
nal—  and  encouraged  me,  to  stake  my  last 
Chance  for  Happiness  on  her  Head  —  May 
Heaven  crown  my  pleased  Hopes  with  Suc- 
cess, and  I  think  I  shall  not  repine  at  what- 
ever else,  it's  Providence  imposes.  —  I  am 
going  to  some  Warm  Springs  of  the  same 
quality  nearly,  as  the  Bath  Waters — a  Bil- 
ious Complaint,  obliges  me  to  this  Expedi- 
tion—  I  wish  it  did  not  —  for  a  change  of 
scene  here,  is  attended  with  great  fatigue, 
as  well  as  an  immoderate  Expence — owing 
to  the  necessity  of  our  carrying.  Tents, 
Equipage,  and  every  Household  Conve- 
nience along  with  us  —  I  shall  be  absent 
only  a  Month  —  and  yet  my  Expences  in 
that  time,  in  spite  of  economy,  will  amount 
to    as    great    a    sum,    as    would    defray    the 


LETTERS 

Charges  of  a  Voyage  to  England.  Would 
to  God  !  the  money  was  to  be  so  appropri- 
ated in  preference  to  my  Laving,  and  Com- 
mencing "Phthisical  Nymph  of  the  Foun- 
tain."—  but  it  will  not  be  —  and  I  must 
endeavor  to  rest  satisfied,  till  next  year — 
I  sometimes  think,  my  dear  James  —  that 
our  present  Differences  Here,  may  induce 
the  Directors  to  send  us  a  Governor  from 
England,  in  preference  to  appointing  any  of 
the  Gentlemen  Here  to  succeed — in  which 
Case,  your  Commodore  I  suppose  has  a 
Chance  of  succeeding  to  the  Chair,  if  he 
chooses  to  Exert  his  Interest,  to  obtain  it — 
I  own  to  you,  in  that  Case  my  dear,  that 
my  wishes  for  seeing  you  accompany  Him 
are  not  very  sanguine  —  the  Climate  —  the 
Society  —  are  dreadful  Taxations,  on  the 
Mind  as  well  as  Body's  Health  —  and  I 
wish  you  to  preserve  yours,  serene,  and 
Chearful,  as  long  as  you  live,  and  to  a 
good  old  age,  without  any  of  those  Rubs 
of  Disturbances — ill  Health,  &  worse  spirits 
usually  Creates. — Your  little  Maiden  too — 
how  would  you  dispose  of  her?  I  like  not 
your  bringing  her  with  you,  nor  yet  the 
Idea  of  your  seperating  from   her  for  years 

263 


L  E  T  T  E  R  S 

together — James,  I  think,  is  rather  attached 
to  this  Country,  see,  an  Instance,  of  the 
force  of  Habit,  in  this — for  absolutely,  it  is 
not,  not  otherwise  to  be  justified  on  any 
one  Principle  of  Sound  Reasoning  —  or 
Agreable  Caprice  for  there  never  was  a 
greater  Dearth,  of  every  thing  which  could 
charm  the  Heart  —  please  the  Fancy,  or 
speak  to  the  Judgment,  than  what  reigns 
in  Bombay,  nor  Wit,  Beauty,  Sense,  Merit, 
have  We — nor  yet  Taste — Humour,  Amuse- 
ments— Social  Converse  —  and  as  to  Worth 
in  it's  different  Species;  of  Honor,  Charac- 
ter—  benevolence.  Industry  —  and  what  is 
Emphatically  meant,  by  Superior  Abilities 
— We  either  are  too  ignorant  to  know  the 
real  Estimation  of  Them — or  so  far  degen- 
erate, as  to  laugh  at  their  ascribed  Powers, 
when  any  selfish  Purpose  can  be  gratified, 
by  the  Derision  of  Them  —  Such  are  the 
People  I  associate  with,  &  such  must  be 
your  Fate,  my  dear  Woman,  if  you  visit 
this  Country  —  Happy  for  you — that  your 
Mind  is  formed,  &;  has  that  natural  Biass 
to  Goodness,  which  cannot  now  be  per- 
verted, by  the  Maxims,  &  Examples  of  a 
wretched   Community — I  wish  you   my  dear 

264 


LETTERS 

Friend,  all  the  Happiness,  you  can  possibly 
wish  yourself,  and  therefore  I  never  wish  to 
see  you  in  India. — Indeed  you  do  me  but 
justice  in  thinking  that  my  Regard  for  your 
little  Treasure  must  equal  the  tenderness 
you  shew  towards  mine,  for  'tis  certain  that 
I  am  just  as  sincere  in  wishing  her  Welfare, 
as  I  am  in  wishing  that  of  Betseys — and  I 
flatter  myself,  dear  James,  that  these  Young 
Plants  of  ours  will  not  Emulate  us  more  in 
anything  else,  than  they  will  in  the  affec- 
tion they  bear  to  each  other — for  it  would 
be  a  source  of  joy  to  me,  to  see  them 
capable  of  a  lively  fi'iendship,  and  each  con- 
sidering the  other  as  a  second  self — for 
which  purpose,  I  would  endeavor  to  instill 
into  the  mind  of  Eliza,  how  very  superior 
the  pleasure  of  obliging  is,  to  that  of  grati- 
fying any  Inclination  which  has  self,  only, 
or  even  principally,  for  it's  object. — as  I'm 
confident  such  a  mode  of  thinking  must 
lead  to  the  attainment  of  every  social  Virtue, 
and  diffuse  a  Complacency  throughout  the 
whole  manner  which  would  please  every 
Sensible  Observer,  and  insure  heartfelt  peace 
to  the  Possesser  of  it — if  any  Acquisition  in 
nature    can    effect   so   desired  a  Purpose.      I 


LETTERS 

could  wish  my  dear  —  when  your  little 
Maiden  begins  to  handle  the  Pen,  that  a 
Correspondence  might  be  commenced  be- 
tween her  and  Betsey,  as  an  Intercourse  of 
this  kind  between  young  People  is  often 
promotive  of  the  most  endearing  offices,  & 
might  be  made  highly  conducive  to  their 
reciprocal  Improvement  in  various  ways,  as 
well  as  lead  to  Perfection  in  an  Art,  which 
certainly  is  a  valuable  accomplishment  in 
Young  Women  —  for  nothing  expands  the 
Mind,  and  gives  advantages  to  style,  more, 
than  the  early  Practise  of  familiar  letter 
writing  —  for  which  Purpose,  I  would  en- 
deavor to  make  it  agreable  to  them,  by 
suffering  them  to  carry  it  on  without  the 
least  Restraint — as  it  is  not  to  be  imagined 
how  quick  the  Progress  of  Improvement 
frequently  is  in  such  Cases — both  our  Girls, 
seem  to  have  lively  Talents — here's  a  fine 
field  for  the  Display  of  them  —  and  their 
Ignorance,  their  Innocense  rather,  renders  it 
impossible  that  they  should  be  the  means  of 
Injuring  each  other — no  matter  if  they  spell 
incorrectly  and  scribble  nothing  but  non- 
sense— their  doing  even  this,  will  pave  the 
way  to   their  acquitting   themselves  better — 

966 


LETTERS 

and  there  is  to  j^oung  as  well  as  old,  a  joy 
in  giving  way  to  the  dictates  of  fancy  only, 
when  they  imagine  that  none  superior  to 
themselves  will  pass  judgment  on  the  Per- 
formance, and  for  this  Reason  my  James — I 
would  not  attempt,  or  wish  to  make  them 
think  that  I  had  any  desire  to  view  their 
Epistles. — but  this  my  Friend,  I  submit  en- 
tirely to  you — What  a  letter  have  I  wrote, 
and  how  I  have  wrote  it,  but  no  matter,  if 
you  can  but  read  it,  for  it  is  too  long  to 
write  over  again — and  indeed  if  it  was  not, 
I  am  not  fond  of  the  practise  of  copying — 
it  looks  as  if  we  wrote  for  applause,  or  were 
afraid  to  entrust  our  friends  with  our  first 
Thoughts,  which  certainly,  are  in  general 
the  best  Picture  of  our  Minds  —  for  tho' 
after  Reflection,  may  enable  us  to  improve 
the  Drapery  by  heightening  the  Colouring, 
it's  a  great  Doubt  with  me  if  we  ever  im- 
prove the  likeness  by  attempting  to  give 
grace  to  the  Features,  and  quere  whether 
we  can  be  satisfied  to  embellish  some  parts 
of  a  Portrait,  without  endeavoring  to  do  as 
much  by  the  whole,  when  the  Pencil  is 
once  in  our  hands,  and  the  fancy  of  im- 
proving  very    strong    upon    us  —  therefore    I 

367 


LETTERS 

deem  it  more  fair  to  give  the  first  sketch, 
whether  of  the  rude  or  elegant  sort,  when 
we  mean  to  convey  an  Idea  of  Truth,  to 
our  Friends,  or  People  of  real  Taste — For 
such  will  always  make  kinder  allowances  for 
an  Artist,  than  He  in  Modesty  could  make 
for  Himself.  Adieu!  my  beloved  Friend  I 
I  wish  you  Health,  and  a  large  Portion  of 
everything  that's  desirable — Remember  me 
most  kindly  to  your  Husband.  I  will  write 
to  him  by  this  opportunity  if  I  have  time — 
I  now  enclose  you  a  Duplicate  &  Triplicate, 
of  Bills  I  have  sent  you  before  for  the  use 
of  the  Sternes — by  Cap^  Taylor  you  would 
receive  some  Trifles  from  me.  Adieu  ! 
Adieu  1  I  ever  am  most  sincerely  Yours — 
with  the  tenderest  affection. 

E.   Draper. 


368 


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LETTERS 


TO    MRS.    ELIZA   MIHILL. 

Bombay.   Marine   House, 

January  14,   1773. 

MY    DEAR    BETTY. 

THIS  may  be  the  last  hour  I  may  have 
it  in  my  power  to  write  or  do  anything 
of  use  for  the  benefit  of  you  my  faithful 
servant  and  dear  friend  ;  for  in  the  latter 
capacity,  indeed,  I've  rather  wished  ever  to 
consider  you,  therefore  let  me  dedicate  it  as 
properly  as  the  peculiarity  of  my  situation 
will  admit.  When  Mr.  Horsley  went  to 
England  I  consigned  some  few  jewels  to 
him,  the  amount  of  which  would  be  about 
£500  or  £600,  and  which  I  ever  intended 
for  you  in  case  I  could  not  induce  Mr. 
Draper  to  make  you  a  present  exceeding  it, 
and  more  suited  to  my  wishes.  Accept  it, 
my  dear  woman,  as  the  best  token  in  my 
power,  expressive  of  my  good-will  to  you. 
Do  not  hesitate  from  any  point  of  delicacy 
or  principle  to  Mr.   Draper: — I  am  as  inca- 

269 


LETTERS 

pable  of  taking  mean  pecuniary  advantages, 
as  the  most  moral  persons  breathing  can  be. 
This  little  fund,  by  right,  is  my  due;  it  is 
what  results  from  the  sale  of  my  ornaments, 
little  perquisites  due  to  me  as  a  woman,  and 
which  he  never  would  have  possessed  had  I 
not  received  them;  nor  will  they  be  his  if 
you  decline  having  them — that  is  the  worth 
of  them.  Take  it  then,  Betty,  without  any 
scruple  of  conscience.  The  enclosed  is  an 
order  on  Mr.  Horsley  for  the  delivery  of  it 
to  you.  You  will,  perhaps,  see  England  be- 
fore me.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  woman! 
Visit  my  child  sometimes,  and  speak  kindly 
to  her  of  her  mother.  My  heart  is  full. 
The  next  twenty-four  hours  will,  in  all 
probability,  either  destine  me  to  the  grave 
or  a  life  of  reproach, — shocking  alternative, 
but  I  will  endeavour  to  bear  my  fate,  so  as 
to  assure  my  own  heart.  I  had  deserved  a 
better,  if  chance  had  not  counteracted  the 
good  propensities  assigned  me  by  nature. 
God  give  you  health  and  a  peaceable 
establishment  in  England,  my  dear  woman. 

Adieu, 

Eliza  Draper. 


370 


LETTERS 


TO    GEO.    HORSLEY    ESQ. 

January   14,   1773. 

DEAR    HORSLEY, 

IF  you  knew  the  misery  and  compunction 
with  which  I  addressed  this  note  to  you, 
you  would,  in  spite  of  reason  and  justice, 
think  me  entitled  to  some  degree  of  pity, 
though  I  am  lost,  for  ever  lost,  to  every 
claim  which  could  entitle  me  to  your  es- 
teem. This  hour  is  my  own,  but  whether 
the  next  may  produce  my  death  or  destrac- 
tion,  or  whatever  else,  heaven  only  knows. 
I  dedicate  it  as  one  act  of  just  benevolence, 
by  requesting  you  to  pay  to  Betty  I^Iihill, 
or  her  order,  the  sum  of  money  which  may 
have  resulted  from  the  sale  of  my  diamond 
rings,  be  it  what  it  will.  Adieu  Horsleyl 
God  restore  you  to  health,  and  the  enjoy- 
ment of  yourself. 

Eliza  Draper. 


271 


LETTERS 


TO    DANIEL    DRAPER. 

[January  14,   1773.] 

IF  you  knew,  Draper,  with  what  anguish 
I  accosted  you  at  present,  I  think,  and 
cannot  help  thinking  it,  that  the  severity 
of  justice  should  give  place  to  the  sentiment 
of  compassion,  in  a  farewell  letter — I  will 
not  recriminate  —  I  would  even  be  all  in 
fault,  if  that  might  serve  to  alleviate  the 
disgrace  inflicted  on  my  husband,  by  my 
elopement  from  him,  but,  Draper,  be  can- 
did, I  beseech  you,  as  you  sometimes  can 
be,  when  it  makes  against  yourself  to  be 
so,  and  then  think,  if  you  have  not  a  great 
deal  to  reproach  yourself  for,  in  this  late 
affair — if  you  can  say  you  have  not,  I  must, 
I  fear,  be  miserable,  as  my  sole  prospect  of 
happiness  is  derived  from  the  idea  that  your 
own  consciousness  will  befriend  me  in  this 
particular  instance,  and  if  it  does,  let  it 
operate  so  as  to  prevent  your  pursuing  me 
in    a    vindictive    manner.      I    speak    in    the 

272 


L  E  T  TE  R  S 

singular  number,  because  I  would  not 
wound  you  by  the  mention  of  a  name 
that  I  know  must  be  displeasing  to  you; 
but.  Draper,  believe  me  for  once,  when  I 
solemnly  assure  you,  that  it  is  you  only 
who  have  driven  me  to  serious  Extremities. 
But  from  the  conversation  on  IVIonday  last 
he  had  nothing  to  hope,  or  you  to  fear. 
Lost  to  reputation,  and  all  hopes  of  living 
with  my  dearest  girl  on  peaceable  or  credit- 
able terms,  urged  by  a  despair  of  gaining 
any  one  point  with  you,  and  resenting, 
strongly  resenting,  I  own  it  your  avowed 
preference  of  Leeds  to  myself,  I  myself 
Proposed  the  scheme  of  leaving  you  thus 
abruptly.  Forgive  me,  Draper,  if  its  accom- 
plishment has  excited  anguish;  but  if  pride 
is  only  wounded  by  the  measure,  sacrifice 
that  I  beseech  you  to  the  sentiment  of 
humanity,  as  indeed  you  may,  and  may  be 
amply  revenged  in  the  compunction  I  shall 
feel  to  the  hour  of  my  death,  for  a  conduct 
that  will  so  utterly  disgrace  me  with  all  I 
love,  and  do  not  let  this  confirm  the  preju- 
dice imbibed  by  Leeds's  tale,  as  I  swear  to 
you  that  was  false,  though  my  present  mode 
of  acting   may  rather  seem  tlie  consequence 

273 


LETTERS 

of  it  than  of  a  more  recent  event.  Oh! 
that  prejudice  had  not  been  deaf  to  the 
reasonable  requests  of  a  wounded  spirit,  or 
that  you,  Draper  could  have  read  my  very 
soul,  as  undisguisedly,  as  sensibility  and  in- 
nocence must  ever  wish  to  be  read !  But 
this  is,  too,  like  recrimination  which  I  would 
wish  to  avoid.  I  can  only  say  in  my  justifi- 
cation, Draper,  that  if  you  imagine  I  plume 
myself  on  the  Success  of  my  scheme,  you 
do  me  a  great  wrong.  My  heart  bleeds  for 
what  I  suppose  may  possibly  be  the  suffer- 
ings of  yours,  though  too  surely  had  you 
loved,  all  this  could  never  have  been.  My 
head  is  too  much  disturbed  to  write  with 
any  degree  of  connection.  No  matter,  for  if 
your  own  mind  does  not  suggest  palliatives, 
all  I  can  say  will  be  of  little  avail.  I  go,  I 
know  not  whither,  but  I  will  never  be  a 
tax  on  you.  Draper.  Indeed,  I  will  not, 
and  do  not  suspect  me  of  being  capable  of 
adding  to  my  portion  of  infamy.  I  am  not 
a  hardened  or  depraved  creature  —  I  never 
will  be  so.  The  enclosed  are  the  only  bills 
owing  that  I  know  of,  except  about  six 
rupees  to  Doojee,  the  shoemaker.  I  have 
never    meant    to    load    myself    with     many 

274 


LETTERS 

spoils  to  your  prejudice,  but  a  moderate 
provision  of  linen  has  obliged  me  to  secure 
part  of  what  was  mine,  to  obviate  some 
very  mortifying  difficulties.  The  pearls  and 
silk  cloathes  are  not  in  the  least  diminished. 
Betty's  picture,  of  all  the  ornaments,  is  the 
only  one  I  have  ventured  to  make  mine.  T 
presume  not  to  recommend  any  of  the  per- 
sons to  you  who  were  immediately  officiat- 
ing about  me;  but  this  I  conjure  you  to 
believe  as  strictly  true,  that  not  one  of 
them  or  any  living  soul  in  the  Marine 
House  or  Mazagon,  was  at  all  privy  to  my 
scheme,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  nor  do 
I  believe  that  any  one  of  them  had  the 
smallest  suspicion  of  the  matter;  unless  the 
too  evident  Concern  occasioned  by  my  pres- 
ent conflict  induced  them  to  think  Some- 
thing extraordinary  was  in  agitation.  Ol 
Draper  I  a  word,  a  look,  sympathetick  of 
regret  on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday  would 
have  saved  me  the  perilous  adventure,  and 
such  a  portion  of  remorse  as  would  be  suffi- 
cient to  fill  up  the  longer  life.  I  reiterate 
my  request  that  vindictive  measures  may 
not  be  pursued.  Leave  me  to  my  fate  I 
conjure  you.  Draper,  and  m  doing  this  you 


LETTERS 

will  leave  me  to  misery  inexpressible,  for 
you  are  not  to  think,  that  T  am  either 
satisfied  with  myself  or  my  prospects, 
though  the  latter  are  entirely  my  own 
seeking.  God  bless  you,  may  health  and 
prosperity  be  yours,  and  happiness  too,  as 
I  doubt  not  but  it  will,  if  you  suffer  your 
resentments  to  be  subdued  by  the  aid  of 
true  and  reasonable  reflections.  Do  not  let 
that  false  idea  of  my  triumphing  induce  you 
to  acts  of  vengeance  I  implore  you.  Draper, 
for  indeed  that  can  never  be,  nor  am  I 
capable  of  bearing  you  the  least  ill-will;  or 
treating  your  name  or  memory  with  irrever- 
ence, now  that  I  have  released  myself  from 
your  dominion.  Suffer  me  but  to  be  unmo- 
lested, and  I  will  engage  to  steer  through 
life  with  some  degree  of  approbation,  if  not 
respect.  Adieu!  again  Mr.  Draper,  and  be 
assured  I  have  told  you  nothing  but  the 
truth,  however  it  may  clash  with  yours  and 
the  general  opinion. 

Eliza  Draper. 


276 


L  E  T  TE  R  S 


TO    MR.    WILKES. 


Sunday  Afternoon,  Mar.  22,  [1775?] 

I  THANK  you  for  the  French  volume, 
Mr.  Wilkes,  and  I  really  feel  myself 
obliged  for  the  English  pages;  tho' 
the  Eulogium  which  accompanied  them 
makes  me  half  afraid  of  indulging  in 
something  which  I  presume  to  call  taste 
for  the  pleasure  of  wit  and  conversation, 
as  there  is  nothing  which  I  ought  to  be 
more  apprehensive  of  than  Praise  from  dis- 
tinguished persons  because  it  ever  has  had 
too  powerful  an  effect  on  my  imagination 
to  render  me  capable  of  aspiring  to  merit 
in  capital  instances.  1  say  not  this  with  a 
view  to  disqualify  and  extort  refinements  in 
flattery,  but  from  such  a  consciousness  of 
my  own  imbecility  as  makes  me  very  seri- 
ous when  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  self- 
examination.  If,  therefore,  you  have  the 
generosity  which    I    take   you   to   have,  you 

277 


LETTERS 

will  rather  endeavour  to  correct  my  foiblesse 
than  to  add  to  it  by  your  encomiums.  I 
request  my  compliments,  if  you  please,  to 
Miss  Wilkes,  and  am  your  much  obliged 
and  most  obedient, 

Eliza  Draper. 


8T8 


Abbe  Ravnal 


L  E  ■ 

wll  rather  my  joiolesse 

t  iums.     I 

^se,  to 


l*;n7RH  3(idA 


AN     EULOGY 


BY    THE 


ABBE    RAYNAL 


AN     EULOGY 

BY    THE 
ABBE    RAYNAL 

(From  the  European  Magazine  for   March, 

1784,) 

MRS.  DRAPER,  the  Lady  who  has 
been  so  celebrated  as  the  Corre- 
spondent of  Mr.  Sterne  under  the 
name  of  Eliza,  will  naturally  attract  the 
notice  of  the  Publick.  That  she  was  de- 
serving of  the  encomiums  bestowed  upon 
her  by  that  admirable  writer  will  appear 
from  the  following  eulogium  written  by  the 
excellent  Abbe  Raynal,  which  I  transmit 
to  you  for  publication  in  your  next  Maga- 
zine. 

I  am,  yours,   &;c. 

A.  T. 


281 


AN    EULOGY 

Territory  of  Anjengo,  thou  art  nothing; 
but  thou  hast  given  birth  to  EUza.  A  day 
will  come,  when  these  staples  of  commerce, 
founded  by  the  Europeans  on  the  coasts  of 
Asia,  will  exist  no  more.  Before  a  few  cen- 
turies are  elapsed,  the  grass  will  cover  them, 
or  the  Indians,  avenged,  will  have  built  upon 
their  ruins.  But  if  my  works  be  destined 
to  have  any  duration,  the  name  of  Anjengo 
will  not  be  obliterated  from  the  memory  of 
man.  Those  who  shall  read  my  works,  or 
those  whom  the  winds  shall  drive  towards 
these  shores,  will  say :  There  it  is  that 
Eliza  Draper  was  born;  and  if  there  be  a 
Briton  among  them,  he  will  immediately 
add,  with  the  spirit  of  conscious  pride.  And 
there  it  was  that  she  was  born  of  English 
parents. 

Let  me  be  permitted  to  indulge  my 
grief,  and  to  give  a  free  course  to  my 
tears!  Eliza  was  my  friend.  Reader,  who- 
soe'er thou  art,  forgive  me  this  involuntary 
emotion.  Let  my  mind  dwell  upon  Eliza. 
If  I  have  sometimes  moved  thee  to  com- 
passionate the  calamities  of  the  human  race, 
let  me  now  prevail  upon  thee  to  commiser- 
ate my  own  misfortune.     I   was  thy  friend 

282 


AN    EULOGY 


without  knowing  thee;  be  for  a  moment 
mine.     Thy  gentle  pity  shall  be  my  reward. 

Eliza  ended  her  days  in  the  land  of  her 
forefathers,  at  the  age  of  three-and-thirty. 
A  celestial  soul  was  separated  from  a  heav- 
enly body.  Ye  who  visit  the  spot  on  which 
her  sacred  ashes  rest,  write  upon  the  marble 
that  covers  them:  In  such  a  year,  in  such  a 
month,  on  such  a  day,  at  such  an  hour,  God 
withdrew  his  spirit,  and  Eliza  died. 

And  thou,  original  writer,  her  admirer 
and  her  friend,  it  was  Eliza  who  inspired 
thy  works,  and  dictated  to  thee  the  most 
affecting  pages  of  them.  Fortunate  Sterne, 
thou  art  no  more,  and  I  am  left  behind.  I 
wept  over  thee  with  Eliza ;  thou  wouldst 
weep  over  her  with  me;  and  had  it  been 
the  will  of  Heaven,  that  you  had  both  sur- 
vived me,  your  tears  would  have  fallen  to- 
gether upon  my  grave. 

The  men  were  used  to  say,  that  no  woman 
had  so  many  graces  as  Eliza:  the  women 
said  so  too.  They  all  praised  her  candour; 
they  all  extolled  her  sensibility;  they  were 
all  ambitious  of  the  honour  of  her  acquaint- 
ance. The  stings  of  envy  were  never  pointed 
against  unconscious  merit. 

383 


AN     EULOGY 

Anjengo,  it  is  to  the  influence  of  thy 
happy  climate  that  she  certainly  was  in- 
debted for  that  almost  incompatible  har- 
mony of  voluptuousness  and  decency,  which 
diffused  itself  over  all  her  person,  and  ac- 
companied all  her  motions.  A  statuary  who 
would  have  wished  to  represent  Voluptuous- 
ness, would  have  taken  her  for  his  model; 
and  she  would  equally  have  served  for  him 
who  might  have  had  a  figure  of  Modesty  to 
display.  Even  the  gloomy  and  clouded  sky 
of  England  had  not  been  able  to  obscure 
the  brightness  of  that  aerial  kind  of  soul, 
unknown  in  our  climates.  In  every  thing 
that  Eliza  did,  an  irresistible  charm  was  dif- 
fused around  her.  Desire,  but  of  a  timid  and 
bashful  cast,  followed  her  steps  in  silence. 
Any  man  of  courteousness  alone  must  have 
loved  her,  but  would  not  have  dared  to  own 
his  passion. 

I  search  for  Eliza  every  where:  I  discover, 
I  discern  some  of  her  features,  some  of  her 
charms,  scattered  among  those  women  whose 
figure  is  most  interesting.  But  what  is  be- 
come of  her  who  united  them  all  ?  Nature, 
who  hast  exhausted  thy  gifts  to  form  an 
Eliza,    didst    thou    create   her   only  for   one 

284 


AN    EULOGY 

moment  ?  Didst  thou  make  her  to  be  ad- 
mired for  one  instant,  and  to  be  for  ever 
regretted  ? 

All  who  have  seen  Eliza,  regret  her.  As 
for  myself,  my  tears  will  never  cease  to 
flow  for  her  all  the  time  I  have  to  live. 
But  is  this  sufficient  ?  Those  who  have 
known  her  tenderness  for  me,  the  confi- 
dence she  had  bestowed  upon  me,  will  they 
not  say  to  me.  She  is  no  more,  and  yet 
thou  livest. 

Eliza  intended  to  quit  her  country,  her 
relations,  her  friends,  to  take  up  her  resi- 
dence along  with  me,  and  spend  her  days 
in  the  midst  of  mine.  What  happiness  had 
I  not  promised  to  myself?  What  joy  did 
I  not  expect,  from  seeing  her  sought  after 
by  men  of  genius;  and  beloved  by  women 
of  the  nicest  taste?  I  said  to  myself,  Eliza 
is  young,  and  thou  art  near  thy  latter  end. 
It  is  she  who  will  close  thine  eyes.  Vain 
hope  I  Fatal  reverse  of  all  human  probabili- 
ties! My  old  age  has  been  prolonged  be- 
yond the  days  of  her  youth.  There  is  now 
no  person  in  the  world  existing  for  me. 
Fate  has  condemned  me  to  live,  and  die 
alone. 

S85 


AN    EULOGY 

Eliza's  mind  was  cultivated,  but  the  effects 
of  this  art  were  never  perceived.  It  had 
done  nothing  more  than  embellish  nature; 
it  served  in  her,  only  to  make  the  charm 
more  lasting.  Every  instant  increased  the 
delight  she  inspired;  every  instant  rendered 
her  more  interesting.  Such  is  the  impres- 
sion she  made  in  Europe.  Eliza  then  was 
very  beautiful?  No,  she  was  simply  beauti- 
ful:* but  there  was  no  beauty  she  did  not 
eclipse,  because  she  was  the  only  one  that 
was  like  herself. 

Eliza  has  written;  and  the  men  of  her 
nation,  whose  works  have  been  the  most 
abounding  in  elegance  and  taste,  would  not 
have  disavowed  the  small  number  of  pages 
she  has  left  behind  her. 

When  I  saw  Eliza,  I  experienced  a  sensa- 
tion unknown  to  me.  It  was  too  warm  to 
be  no  more  than  friendship;  it  was  too  pure 
to  be  love.  Had  it  been  a  passion,  Eliza 
would  have  pitied  me;  she  would  have  en- 
deavoured to  bring  me  back  to  my  reason, 
and  I  should  have  completely  lost  it. 

Eliza  used  frequently  to  say,  that  she  had 

*  Eliza  etoit  done  tres-belle  ?     Non,  elle  n'etoit  que  belle. 
386 


AN    EULOGY 

a  greater  esteem   for   me  than   for   any  one 
else.     At  present  I  may  believe  it. 

In  her  last  moments,  Eliza's  thoughts 
were  fixed  upon  her  friend;  and  I  cannot 
write  a  line  without  having  before  me  the 
monument  she  has  left  me.  Oh !  that  she 
could  also  have  endowed  my  pen  with  her 
graces  and  her  virtue!  Methinks,  at  least, 
I  hear  her  say,  ' '  That  stern  muse  that 
looks  at  you,  is  History,  whose  awful  duty 
it  is  to  determine  the  opinion  of  posterity. 
That  fickle  deity  that  hovers  o'er  the  globe, 
is  Fame,  who  condescended  to  entertain  us 
a  moment  about  you;  she  brought  me  thy 
works,  and  paved  the  way  for  our  connec- 
tion [liaison^  by  esteem.  Behold  that  phoe- 
nix immortal  amidst  the  flames:  it  is  the 
symbol  of  Genius,  which  never  dies.  Let 
these  emblems  perpetually  incite  thee  to 
shew  thyself  the  defender  of  humanity,  of 
TRUTH,  and  of  liberty." 

Eliza,  from  the  highest  Heaven,  thy  first 
and  last  country,  receive  my  oath:   I  swear 

NOT     TO     WRITE     ONE     LINE     IN     WHICH     THY 
FRIEND    MAY    NOT    BE    RECOGNISED.* 

•  For  the   original   French,  see   the  Hisioire  Philosophique  et 
Politique  (new  edition.  Vol.  II.,  Bk.  III.,  1780). 

387 


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